


Jemma Simmons, Agent of S.A.S.S.

by Selmak



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-03-14 12:44:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 45,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3411089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selmak/pseuds/Selmak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the newest member of the team doubts that Jemma is capable of obtaining a date, Jemma Simmons decides to show Skye how it's done. Naturally, as Simmons is involved, it goes horribly awry. Really, in her worst nightmare, she hadn't anticipated that she'd pick up a senior SHIELD Agent.  (No Skimmons, sorry)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bet

"This Hacker you have added to the team, Phil. I don't approve," May quietly stated as the two senior agents discussed the addition to their team. Ok, actually Phil talked and May pithily interjected as needed.

"Don't worry, I'm sure FitzSimmons will be a good influence on her," Coulson decided. 

Melinda May said nothing but rolled her eyes, which spoke volumes. Naturally, Phil just smiled.

* * *

 

At that very moment, the Rising Tide Hacker turned newest member of the Coulson's Flying Circus, was talking with FitzSimmons.   All three were unaware that FitzSimmons was supposed to be a calming influence on the Hackativist.  In fact, Phil Coulson might be quite horrified about how wrong he had been about who was influencing who in that relationship. 

"So, what do you two do for fun on this flying cloister? Recite the Periodical Table of Elements?" Skye asked in false bravo, not willing to admit that she was the teeny weeniest bit scared of her cover being blown and how honest and nice FitzSimmons appeared.  And likeable, too.

"It's not that bad," Simmons admitted. “We have a great deal of fun.”

"You can't possibly be having sex as the walls are paper thin," Skye informed Simmons.  “The cots ain’t a-rocking, that’s for sure.”

"No, I do that off the plane," Simmons lied, and lied badly. Her fair complexion was streaked with crimson and she looked horribly embarrassed.

"Right," Skye agreed in a 'Yeah Right' tone.

"When I go out on furlough, I have a **_great_** deal of fun," the British biochemist continued as though she was trying to convince herself along with Skye.

"At the museum?" Skye quipped.

"With **_men_** ," Jemma fiercely stated, as she was annoyed that Fitz had snickered. Well, he was interested in the new girl's bouncy boobs.

"I'd like to see **_that_**."

 And so the gamble was proposed, the wager announced and the terms agreed upon.

* * *

 

He hated when his job brought him to NYC.  He much preferred DC, knew the ins and outs of the various political enclaves, and his loyalty to his superior was blood thick and bone deep and most importantly returned in spades, but NYC… there were players involved whom he didn’t know personally, didn’t know what made them tick (or made them, ticks – and he was talking about you, John Garrett) and the currents were enough to drown the unwary. And he was here for a full week.

Restless, with an odd energy that needed to be burned off, he decided to search out a small English pub he had read about in the Times. Supposedly it was a traditional pub that was located in the East Village. Maybe play a few rounds of darts, see if he had figured out the rules to blackpool yet. Oh, and maybe have some curry chips as he was hankering for some.   As a single man (married and divorced thanks to his complete lack of personality per his ex-wife), he lacked the inclination to do much cooking.

He returned back to his hotel (after thoroughly checking for tracking devices as NYC probes were notorious for trying to plant tracers on visiting senior agents), ditched the suit, decided to do a proper clean up (shower and shave just in case some woman decided that she was hankering for a man who hadgone grey in his early forties) and changed into casual clothes. Battered leather jacket, jeans and a Henley, topped (bottomed?) with a pair of old leather boots. One never knew when decent footwear would save one’s life, so he always wore decent shoes.

Plus his gun and his assorted toys (knife, handcuff remover, container of mace that looked like hairspray which was pretty funny as he was pulling clumps of his hair out daily).

Being kidnapped once was enough, thank you very much.  And regardless of what Phil Coulson had said at the time (and still stated), it had not been fun, it had not been a team building exercise and it had been goddamn cold.                  

His toys secured, he took mass transit to the Fox & Hounds pub.  Once he was there, he ordered a Guinness and claimed a pool table.  For now, he’d practice for a bit and then have dinner later.

* * *

 

“I don’t need you to come with me,” Jemma informed Skye and Fitz even as she straightened out her hair. “I think you might scare him off.”

“How will we know that you’re telling us the truth about Mr. Hottie?” asked Skye.

It was a very good question, and one that Simmons had prayed that she wouldn’t ask.

“My word should be good enough,” protested a very indignant Simmons.

“Of course it is,” Fitz assured Simmons. “She just doesn’t know us yet.”

“Good, see you sometime tomorrow,” Simmons announced as she left the hotel, complete with a very jaunty stride.

“Seriously?” Skye vainly protested at Simmons’ departing backside. She pouted, as there went her entertainment for the evening.  However the possibility of hacking the hotel’s computer software and charging porn to Robo Ward’s hotel room was coming up as a real contender.

“I slipped a tracking device on her purse,” Fitz confessed. “Once she finds her den of depravity, we’ll be able to listen and watch.”

She squealed, loudly, and hugged him. She failed to realize that an embarrassed Fitz was rather happy with his hug.

* * *

“Next time, you keep your mouth shut,” Jemma Simmons mentally chastised herself as she entered the Fox & Hounds.  “Picking up a man like you’re selecting one at the grocer.”

 She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. She knew that she was cute (according to her mother’s repeated phone calls when she asked about Jemma’s non-existent love life.) but the men she preferred, all perfectly symmetrical usually led to nothing but heartache for her.  Perfectly symmetrical men usually preferred perfectly symmetrical females who weren’t overly intelligent.

She remembered what her sister had told her when Jemma was much younger, back when Jemma still believed that it was possible not to scare off a man with her intelligence; be friendly, be approachable were the two items that Jemma could do. (Having a rather well-endowed chest was NOT possible unless she decided on surgical intervention.) That reinforced, Jemma went to the bar and ordered a bitter. To her surprise, there were two men who immediately began talking to her. Adam and Charles were quite handsome (and perfectly symmetrical!) and rather witty, so she found herself enjoying their companionship as they tried to outdo one another. She felt ... vivacious... and attractive... and... fully capable of picking up a man at a bar. 

For the first fifteen minutes, as she abruptly realized that both men were drinking heavily.  Plus they were getting a little too touchy feely for her as Adam leaned down to kiss her.

“Pardon me, I need to use…” she nervously smiled as she gestured towards the ladies’ room. They seemed loathe to let her escape, and her panic increased. Damn it, damn it, damn it. “That’s sweet, but I don’t need an escort.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a man who was at the pool table. He seemed completely absorbed in his game of blackpool, except for the fact that he was surreptitiously watching the scene unfold. He quirked one expressive eyebrow in her direction and his eyes shifted her way.

“OK?” he mouthed at her.

“No,” she mouthed.  

He nodded once, and walked over to the bar. Jemma noticed that he was still carrying his pool cue stick.

“Let’s see… I'd say five feet three in your bare feet, wavy hair, beautiful brown eyes, bright smile… English accent. Floral shirt, strappy heels. Are you _**Anne**_?” he asked.

“I’m five feet **_four_** ,” she protested, as she needed that extra inch.

“I’m Michael, your blind date? Seriously, Izzie didn’t tell me you were such a looker. She also told me that you were constantly late, so I wasn’t anticipating that you would be early. Figured I’d shoot some pool to calm my nerves.”

She knew she appeared confused and the stranger continued, “Did Izzie fail to mention the gray?”

“She said you were graying, **_slightly_** , at the temples,” Jemma fibbed and badly.

He mocked sighed his disgust at the fictional Izzie for failing to mention his gray.

“Pay your tab?” he offered as he reached over with his free hand to take her hand.

“That would be lovely,” she admitted. “And I must confess that I quite like the gray. Shows off your eyes.”

“Hey, old man you better leave as she’s with us. Come on, stay with us. You’re not seriously planning on dating Grandpa here,” Adam loudly announced while Charles laughed. "Have him go back to the home for the old and infirmed."

Jemma wasn’t sure what happened next but it appeared that Charles tried to push ‘Grandpa’.  No doubt as he was heavier and drunker he anticipated it would be a quick fight. It was, however, not for him, as Michael brought the cue stick into play. The cue stick carnage ended with both Adam and Charles on the floor, holding onto various parts while Michael examined the cue stick.

“Damn it, cracked it.” Michael mournfully sighed at the very unfairness of it all.  Rescuing a fair maiden in distress always ended up costing him big time. It was how he had met his ex-wife after all.  “How much for the bar tab and the cue stick?”

The bartender waved his hand and waived the fees.

“Just lovely seeing those guys brought down,” he admitted. “Now I suggest you better leave.”

Michael turned to Jemma and offered his arm. “Shall we be off with all due haste?”

“Let’s,” she quickly agreed as there was something about Michael that she instinctively trusted. Perhaps because his face had character, and was perfectly unsymmetrical.  Or perhaps it was the way he twirled his cue stick.

“I haven’t had dinner yet, so want dinner?” he asked.

She nodded. “Sounds lovely.”

* * *

“She won,” Fitz informed Skye as he worked on reconnecting to his tracker device.  “Dinner is a date.”

“Maybe she’s just doing dinner as a thank you?” Skye offered. “I wish that one guy hadn’t spilled his drink as it shorted out the tracker.”

They had quickly lost their visual of the date, but there had been enough verbal confirmation to detect the cue stick was being utilized as a weapon and the date had been obtained.

“Nope. You need to get her a virus free copies of all upcoming episodes of Dr. Who and Coronation Street.”


	2. 2

“So what would you like for dinner?” Felix Blake asked as he walked down the dark city street with ‘Anne’. “I was hankering for curry chips but it doesn’t look like it will happen now.”

“Sorry,” Simmons murmured.  She apologetically smiled and Michael’s face softened into a smile.

“Don’t worry. You looked like you needed help. That’s more important than curry chips, Anne.” His smile balanced his distinctive face wonderfully.

“My name isn’t Anne,” she confessed. “And let me guess, your name isn’t Michael.”

“For tonight it is,” he admitted. “You don’t have to worry. Divorced for years, no kids. I am owned by a Russian Blue Cat named Fyodor who is currently enjoying his vacation at a cat spa complete with a cat condo. I actually live in DC, in town for work. You?”

“In town for work, also,” Jemma admitted. Then she teased, “ ** _Fyodor_**?”               

“After my marriage ended, got depressed. Nothing like reading the classics in their native tongue to remind you how lucky you are.” Self-deprecating grin.

“What do you do for a living? I know, pool hustler!”

“Data analyst,” admitted Felix.   “Lots and lots of data. Borrrrrring. You?”

“Party planner,” she lied.

Being a trained observer of human nature, Felix Blake knew that ‘Anne’ was lying about her job.  She was a horrible liar but he found that he didn’t mind.  She was a terrible fibber as lying went against her very nature, so she was a puzzle. A very pretty (very young!) puzzle.  Why was she lying about her job? Family disapproval?

From the conversation he had overheard, she seemed to be extremely intelligent.  Maybe she was playing dumb so not to scare him off.  During one of those lengthy nights where he had sat bedside next to an injured Agent, he had watched one of those female TV shows.  The one where the lawyer pretended that she was an air stewardess in order to get a date?

He turned to face her. “Seriously? Party planner? Like Shetland pony party planner? Clowns? Balloon helium tank? No…” Again with the easy grin which made him look like a bad boy looking for trouble. “Not you, you look more like a party planner for Trump.”

Jemma merrily laughed and damned herself for blushing.

“I’m allergic to Shetlands,” she admitted.  “However, a data analyst that can use a cue stick like that? Impressive.”

“I do martial arts, keeps the weight down,” he admitted.

She arched her eyebrow.

“Used to be a cop. Got hurt,” was his soft admission. “Then became a desk jockey, play with numbers all day long. Sad but true story. I also have to confess that while I’m glad I can come to the rescue of a fair maiden, my back is like, you’re an idiot! ”

“I appreciate it,” Jemma said.  “They seemed so nice at first then they turned… rancid.”

She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Well, you’re in luck,” Felix informed her. “I am an absolute bastard on first impressions, so I have no choice but to improve.”

She giggled. Loudly.

* * *

 

It was surprisingly easy to talk to Michael. Not his real name, Jemma remembered, but he answered to it with no trouble, no lapses in response.  He walked the streets as though comfortable with them, and then he tilted his head towards a small storefront.

“Good, it’s open,” he stated.  “Since you’re a party planner, you’ll love this place. Read about it on The Times. It serves carnival food.”

Jemma just stared at him.

“Grown up carnival food, but fun food. You can use it for Trump next time he wants a party,” Felix offered. “Come on, my treat.”

They sat in the corner and he ordered an appetizer - two root beer floats and a funnel cake with strawberries.

“I’m from Iowa. Country fairs were big where I grew up.  My mom and I would go when I was growing up, and if I was good, she’d buy me a funnel cake. Got powdered sugar everywhere. I’m sure it’s not terribly posh, but it’s good.  I’ll run a little longer on the treadmill tomorrow.”

He tore off a piece and heartily ate it, while she just stared at him in horror at what he had just eaten.

“Once a year, won’t kill you,” he reminded her.  That done, she tore off a small piece and hesitantly nibbled at it. When she swallowed, her smile was like a sunrise as it lit up the small restaurant.

“This is really good,” she admitted. “In a frightening way.”

He laughed, a very warm laugh and she realized that she was blushing.

“So how long are you in town?” he asked.

“Tonight, tomorrow and then I leave in the early am,” she admitted.

“Big party planned?” he asked. “Or are you heading home for a bit?”

“I travel so much that I don’t really know where home is,” she confessed.  “Not anymore.”

He nodded his head in easy understanding.  Jemma was grateful that he didn’t ask about her family because it was a painful subject.  Her parents didn’t know that she was a SHIELD agent as they wouldn’t have understood why she had given up a very lucrative career in order to be a ‘Peace Corp Volunteer’.

“Have you been to NYC before?”  he asked.

“Once or twice,” she admitted. “For a few days, not long enough.”

“Did you get a chance to explore?” was his next question.

“Not really,” Jemma admitted.

“You need to do some of the touristy stuff. Skate at Rockefeller,” he stated. He looked at his watch and nodded his head at the time. “The rink is still open. Do you want to try a skate after dinner?”

“I don’t skate very well,” Jemma confessed.

“Neither do I, so we’ll look like idiots together. Now do you want the chili dog or the spaghetti and meatball on a stick?”

Jemma looked over the menu and she pondered a series of truly bad choices even as her terrified HDLs capitulated.

“Frito chili pie?” Felix asked. “Deep fried mash potatoes on a stick?”

* * *

 

After a dinner that was full of both laughter and fried foods, Jemma decided to try ice skating.  To burn off the calories; not to spend more time with the rather droll Michael, who was terribly witty, almost British in his sensibilities.   Ok, maybe she desired to do both as it was far too early to return back to her hotel.

The wind was brisk by the time they reached the Center, so Michael insisted on buying her a fuzzy hat with matching gloves and scarf.  Being an independent woman, she futilely protested even while he paid for them, plus their skating time.  And the skate rental.

He finally raised one finger in tired protest. “Look, I’m not anticipating anything, ok? You’re a party planner, and I’m a data analyst so I think I can splurge. So… stopyabitchin’ and put on your skates. Make sure they’re nice and tight.”

Jemma nodded.  After the skates were secured, she carefully stood.  She felt wobbly and Michael motioned for her to balance herself.

“If you fall, clench your hands,” he suggested. “That way your hands don’t get run over.”

“You seem to be standing very well for someone who doesn’t skate very well,” she protested.

“Balance,” he offered. “You need to relax and don’t worry, you’ll fall. Take a look at that sign across the rink. Do you see it?”

“Yes.”

“Focus on it and start walking toward it,” he stated. “Your balance will figure itself out as long as you focus. When we get on the ice, put one hand on the wall.”

She nearly fell when she realized that she was on the ice, and Michael prevented her from falling.

“Easy,” he stated after her second walk around the rink. Really, shouldn’t that four year old be in BED as opposed to skating circles around her? “Relax.”

Jemma nearly went down once more, and she protested, “People find this fun?”

“It is. You leaned on your toe pick. Just relax like this.” With a very smooth glide, he moved away from her.  “Relax your posture and hold out your arms like this. Bend your knees and lean forward.”

Michael demonstrated the position and Jemma pointed her finger at him. “You can skate.”

She shouldn’t have accused him as her arse met the ice when her center of balance shifted.  

“You didn’t clench your hands,” Michael informed her. “Now, get on your hands and knees and place one foot between your hands. Repeat with your other foot and lift up until you are standing again.”

She was graceless and perhaps she cursed a bit much, but at last she was on her feet again.

“You’re tense. Relax,” he stated. “Now lean on your weaker foot, and then push off with your stronger. Like so.”

Michael was a calm, caring instructor and by the end of their skating session, Jemma was able to hold his hand while they slowly glided around the rink. Ok, he did all the hard work, and she tried to stay upright.  However, it was the best date she had in YEARS. Ok, it was the only date she had been on in years. 

* * *

 

Michael escorted her back to her hotel, and she stopped him before he entered the lobby.  She looked up at him and smiled, “I had a great deal of fun tonight.”

“It was nice,” Michael easily agreed.

“You doing anything tomorrow?” she asked.

“Just work,” he admitted. “Back to the data.”

“Here’s my contact information,” she informed him as she handed him a card. “Call me.”

“Party at PartiesPlanners.Com,” he said. “Is this a real email?”

He seemed doubtful however Jemma saw the glint of metal in the darkness. Quick action was required, soshe reached up to Michael and pulled him down to her level. She French Kissed him with a great deal of enthusiasm, even as she rearranged his scarf.  When they separated, she continued to style his scarf until she was happy that his face was hidden from prying electronic eyes.

“OK, I think that’s a real email,” a dazed Michael murmured.

“Get some sleep and call me tomorrow.” Jemma struggled to be alluring and to her great relief, Michael smiled.

“I had a great deal of fun tonight,” was his shy confession.

“So did I.”

* * *

 

A steamed Jemma Simmons stormed into the hotel, and made her way to Fitz’s room. She didn’t even bother to announce herself, she just swiped his spare room key and she stormed into his room. It was a mess, with Fitz and Skye sitting on the bed together, no doubt gossiping about her.

“ ** _REALLY_**!” she shrieked at Fitz, Skye and WARD.  “Did you think I wouldn’t notice **_SLEEPY_**?”

“We were worried,” Skye protested. “You didn’t call us. It’s late. I couldn't get a clean capture of his face as he seemed to be aware of all the various cameras in the area.”

Jemma Simmons was beyond annoyed and therefore she decided to put the trio in their place.

“Ward, I’m so glad you’re here. As I have a question for you. Actually, two that I need to ask a man of your experience. Fitz won't be able to answer them, I'm afraid.”

A very uncertain Grant Ward nodded his head.  He didn’t know Jemma Simmons well enough to realize that he should have been running for the hills when she spoke in THAT tone. However, Fitz did and he was motioning at Ward NOT TO ANSWER.

Naturally, Ward ignored Fitz.

“Do you appreciate it if a woman purchases condoms?” She asked, in a very sweet tone.  “And what size condoms do you use? I’ve seen your medical records and he’s more endowed than you. I don’t want to buy the wrong size. Ripping is just so déclassé.”

The traumatized looks on her victims did not appease her righteous rage, so she left her devastated victims in Fitz’s room as she returned to her room.    


	3. 3

A very perturbed Jemma Simmons stormed to her hotel room (which was naturally, RIGHT NEXT TO FITZ), turned off her phone’s ringer and decided to take a nice long bath. Her bum was aching something fierce after a particularly nasty impact with the rink ice and a long soak would help her aches and bruises. To her embarrassment, she had managed to pull ‘Michael’ down also during a spectacular fall and he had just **_laughed_** while the two of them had been rather intimately sprawled.

After a long, luxurious bath that Jemma Simmons savored as The Bus’ shower facilities were **_adequate_** , she wrapped herself into a fluffy bathrobe and removed her makeup. She never wore an excessive amount but a touch here and there.

Barefaced, Jemma Simmons examined herself in the mirror and sighed. “I look like I’m twenty one.”

She had fibbed, slightly, and claimed that she was thirty.  Michael was in his late forties, at least, as he had made a passing comment about going grey in his early forties.  Then again, she shouldn’t feel guilty, Anne was thirty and Michael was… lying about his name. Not his career, because a few savvy quips had made her aware of his analytical nature.

Oh well, no doubt she’d never hear back from him again.  In her academy days, it had been easier, sex had been for stress relief, second dates sometimes occurred and sometimes they didn’t.  Post academy first dates rarely transpired, second dates never and… technically he was based in DC and she was based… nowhere on Earth. No, she was based on a plane.

She decided to crawl in her king-sized bed (again so much nicer than the Bus) and against her better nature decided to check her phone as the message alert was flashing. Three from Skye, four from Fitz, one from Ward which she was both tempted and fearful of opening as Ward had no social skills. However there was one addressed to her party planner account from an email that had a user name of RuzzianBluez.

Jemma decided to open that one.

**_Anne;_ **

**_Just hoped you made it back to your hotel room safely._ **

**_Had a great time tonight, unexpectedly and delightfully.  I was just hoping for some decent curry chips, nothing more but God laughed and handed me a cue stick. If you’re interested, I could show you around NYC a little bit tomorrow? I’m chained to the data mills until 4, but after that, I’m free._ **

**_Let me know time and place to meet. If you’re interested, that is and please offer some suggestions on what you’d like to do. Since I’m years out of the social scene, not sure if I’m being too forward or breaking any social mores._ **

**_Just had a lovely evening with you._ **

**_Feliks Mikhail Vlacic_ **

**_Feliks Mikhail <\-- Courtesy of my Russian mother which is where the Michael originated.  Do you have any idea what it’s like being a six year old with the name Feliks? Michael was much safer. _ **

**_Vlacic which is now Blake_ ** **_ß Courtesy of some Ellis Island goon who couldn’t spell my great-grandfather’s last name of Vlacic and decided to Americanize it._ **

A delighted Jemma smiled and responded back with a suggested location and time. After much thought, she signed her name simply as **_Jemma_**. That done, she went to bed, and deliberately ignored all her messages from her team.

* * *

 

Felix Blake, Victoria Hand’s personal pitbull, was in a fairly decent mood when he met with his boss at a coffee shop near the Station the next day.  Those that didn’t know him wouldn’t have realized that he was mentally skipping but Victoria Hand did.

“Are you smiling?” Hand asked. 

Blake put his cell phone on the counter top, and pretended to be texting, instead he was subsonically knocking out any possible ‘ears’ that were listening to his conversation. 

“No, you know that it’s been documented that I don’t know how to smile. Hill drew a growly face during my last review,” Blake retorted while he grabbed his cup from the pickup area. “Similar to the documentation that states you never wear anything less than a three inch heel. Speaking of which, I saw Jasper. He looked terrified. You’re wearing your four inch Jimmy Choos, aren’t you? ”

He looked up at her, as she had a half inch on him in their bare feet, plus the addition of four inches made her stand out. Due to their long association, he knew exactly what those shoes meant.  Vic smiled and Blake softened… slightly. “Tell Izzie hello. Maybe we can go out for drinks after you two get caught up tonight and tomorrow night and the night after that.”

Vic snorted, which was a sign how much she trusted him in all matters, and then she gave him her marching orders. “Reports of someone’s demise has been exaggerated so you might see him today in the office. Find out what you can.”

“I am sure it’s all booby trapped, any attempts to access will be flagged, however … I know that she **_moved out of the house_** ,” Felix stated, she being the one, the only Melinda May. “Dad had to be involved to kick her out of the basement apartment. No coincidence.”

Dad being Director Fury.

“When we get back home, I’ll give you everything I have. The team mix doesn’t make sense and I need you to review. FitzSimmons moved out, too.”

‘Moved out’ was a term for AGENTS who left the quasi-safety of the office and moved into the field.  ‘Moving back home’ was a derogatory term when Field Agents were sent back to the office due to age or medical condition. Not everyone could be John Garrett; Felix would admit to himself that he was jealous at Garrett’s length in the field.

Oh, data analysis had its uses, and no false modesty, he was the best in the business. Due to his analysis he had noticed political undercurrents that he had brought to Victoria Hand’s attention.  Darky murky currents around John Garrett, Jasper Sitwell, Phil Coulson to name a few.  And more worrisome to him, he noticed that Victoria Hand was affected.

However, FitzSimmons was not normally someone on which Felix had to focus. There were easily thousands of SHIELD agents, after all. He knew only hearsay about the legendary whiz kid in the Science Division who had failed his field exam. REPEATEDLY. Was FitzSimmons up to an eighth or ninth attempt by now?

By now it was time just to give it up, kid. It just wasn't happening. 

“Wanted out because FitzSimmons thought it would assist R&D.”

Felix nodded his head.

* * *

 

When Jemma woke there were now eight messages from Skye, thirteen from Fitz and two from Ward on her phone.  She decided to continue to ignore them so they could stew a little longer in her righteous displeasure. After another luxurious bath, she vowed to jury rig a way that she could have a bath on the Bus because really, showers were such a poor substitute. As a trusted coworker had informed her prior to taking the assignment, she also  packed up everything for a quick and easy getaway. Just in case.

There really wasn’t any excuses left, she needed to read her emails. She perused them with a very jaundiced eyes, Skye’s full of emoticons, Fitz was worried that he had upset her and Ward was succinct; she was too much of a babe in the woods to actually know what she was doing.

Bugger him.

And his eight pack abdomen.

She was finding herself intrigued by the older Feliks, his perfectly non-symmetrical face and his **_eyes_**.  Sharp, piercing and experienced, but which had soften when he had talked about his mother.

She deleted her team’s emails and decided what her nefarious plans would be for that night. It had been entirely too long since she had sex (and far longer since she had ‘made love’) and Michael had seemed interested.  He had watched her, smiled appropriately, touched her (but not in the danger zone and the few touches had been carefully placed) and laughed at her jokes.

Plus that kiss had curled her toes and made her warm and tingly all over, especially **_there_**.

While he had paid the check at the carnival food place, she had done a brief scan of his body chemistry. He had come up clean, no STDs, no ickiness, his cholesterol was a smidgeon high but after that meal, anyone’s would have been sky high.  Considering he was a former cop, it wasn’t surprising that he wore a Glock and had a knife in his boot. Odd, but she knew Agent Coulson and Ward wore more when they were on furlough. Most importantly, she was on the pill, and if she bought condoms, well everything should be fine.

And if it wasn’t, she was leaving the next morning and she’d never have to face him again.

However, she couldn’t bring him back to hotel due to obvious reasons, and he probably had the same issue. Hmm… she had to think of a solution.

However, first she needed to go shopping for something cute and sassy.

After she told her well-meaning friends to bugger off because Jemma Simmons intended on getting shagged and she had picked her victim.

* * *

 

Felix Blake arrived early at the park, and sat by the statue.  He easily accepted that he was an idiot as there was no way Jemma of no known last name would show. However, last night had been fun, what with her obvious delight at trying new things.  His dark sunglasses hid the fact that his eyes were constantly scanning the area, looking for possible attacks, even though he was a desk jockey. You could take an agent out of the field, but never the field out of the agent.

Not until they nailed your coffin shut, and then one would probably rise from the Dead like Coulson had.

Last night at the hotel, he had even half-heartedly researched Jemma’s party company just to confirm that it actually existed. There was a website, recently updated, some online reviews, so it seemed as though it was a very small though elite company. No pictures of Jemma, he had noticed. Once he returned home, he’d do a more thorough investigation because it seemed… off… to his analytical mind. Not terribly so, but something was wrong.

Least it didn’t scream, ‘High Class Prostitution Ring’ even though Jemma had seemed too honest, too open to do that for a living.

Nor did it scream KGB, as the website wasn’t posh enough.

To his great relief, Jemma with no known last name, arrived. She brightened when she saw that he was there.

“You came, Feliks!” she exclaimed. Then to his complete surprise, she stood on her toes and kissed him.

On the mouth.

In public.

Even as she straightened his scarf. He made a mental note that Jemma seemed to have a scarf fetish, so to continue wearing them whenever they met. Well, until it grew too warm to wear a coat.

“Better,” she murmured. “I was thinking horribly bold thoughts last night.”

“You were?” he asked, even as he felt his world go off its axis. She hadn’t drugged him, chemically, with that kiss, but definitely the sexual sparks had just kicked up a notch.

**_DOWN BOY! You’re TWICE her AGE!_ **

“That after the dinner and the show tonight, I’d take you back to my hotel room.” She grinned, a bright smile.  “However, my well-meaning coworker is there. I think she’d try to pry, so… do you have noisy coworkers at your hotel?”

“No, I stay at a hotel I found years ago, not what my company recommends,” Felix admitted. “By myself.”

“Good,” she said.

“Are you…” Felix floundered.

“Yes,” Jemma admitted.  She took pity on his confused expression. “You seem surprised.”

“I am,” he admitted.

“I’m clean, had all the tests done last month for work. I’m on the pill, and quite frankly… I need a thorough shag.” Jemma stated that easily, even while Felix continued to stare at her. After her near death experience in Peru, she had decided to live her life more fully, so she decided to be a little more aggressive in obtaining what she wanted.  “Bugger, you’re not interested, are you?”

She blushed and turned to run, but Felix blocked her escape.

“Bloody hell, I’m interested,” he assured her. “It’s just… this doesn’t happen to me with any frequency.”

“I’m hoping for **_frequency_** tonight,” Jemma flirted.  “Along with quality.”

She was the world’s worst flirt, which made her quite endearing to Felix. Therefore like a moth to the flame, he willingly went to his demise and her bed.

* * *

 

The next day the team was sent to Colorado to investigate a gravitational issue that a truck and its escort of SHIELD Agents. And if Skye thought that Jemma Simmons wore the blissful smile of a woman that had been shagged into the mattress the previous night, she was correct. However she didn’t get a chance to ask Jemma, as a grinning Jemma slept all the way to Colorado.

After all, it had been a rather strenuous night for her.  

Sadly for Felix Blake, once he returned back to his home office, his good mood was bombed back to the Stone Age when ‘Reality came a calling’.  Victoria Hand had located hard copies of the team she had snarkily nicknamed  ‘Coulson Flying Circus’ and she wished him to analyze the data as in her eyes, the team’s makeup made no logical sense.   She was right, as the setup was completely wrong for a strike team.

Fortunately there was no one in his office when he started the analysis as him choking on his coffee would have been rather difficult to explain.

Because there was no doubt in his mind that the woman he had sex with while he had been in NYC had been Jemma Simmons.  The photo showed her shy smile, which he remembered quite well as he had been gifted that smile while he had been unbuttoning her shirt.

Sex with a junior agent, NOT GOOD.  However, she wasn’t in his chain of command, and it was most likely a onetime fling, so it wasn’t as bad as it could be, would be if someone (Vic) found out.

Jemma was actually a Level Five agent, one half of FitzSimmons, who was in fact, two people, who was in fact, less than half his age. In fact, the combined age of FitzSimmons was less than his.  In fact, he was so rattled that he was using the phrase ‘in fact’ in every goddamn sentence.

And she was working for Coulson, who Felix had quickly realized did NOT act like the old Coulson.  The nuCoulson was too erratic, too whimsical, too unPhillike.  Phil Coulson had also repeatedly been the search criteria of a massive system wide query created by John Garrett… whose protégé was a member of the Coulson Flying Circus.

Bloody hell, he had to protect Simmons because she had no idea how much trouble she was in.

Why was John Garrett so interested in Phil Coulson?


	4. 4

After reviewing the FitzSimmons file, Felix Blake put his head on his desk and cursed himself for being a complete and utter moron who was ruled by his dick.  Twenty five years young; no wonder she had been a bit of a screamer. His ex-wife had started off with a bang and then their love making had turned quieter, and then silent, much like the state of their marriage.

He was SO GOING TO HELL.

Naturally, Victoria Hand decided to visit him in his office. She took one look at him, sat down and kicked off her Jimmy Choo’s and began to rub her feet.

“Shall we go to your place and get drunk tonight?” she asked. “Izzie will be home late tonight as she has to meet someone. I wore these fuckers for no reason as I’m not getting laid until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“You wore them for sheer intimidation factor,” mumbled Felix.

“That I did,” she admitted. “I’ll be over in an hour, I’ll bring a bottle and you can tell me why your mood has gone into the shitter. You were quite happy this past week, Felix. You had that sated glow that I haven’t seen in far too long.”

“I really fucked up,” he muttered in Russian.

“Seriously, if she’s waving a positive pregnancy test, you’re not the father. It’s too soon,” she teased.

“Vic… Vic… it’s **_bad_** ,” he admitted.

“Look, I’m pretty sure you didn’t get drunk and remarry your ex, so it could always be much, much worse.”

He picked his head off the table and leaned towards her, “She’s fucking twenty five years old, Vic. TWENTY FIVE.”

“Midlife crisis?” Vic asked. It was Victoria Hand’s version of a sympathetic pat on his back.

“She told me she was **_thirty_** ,” he protested.

“Daddy complex?” she offered.

He slammed his head into the desk.

“Have you heard from her?”  

Oh God no, Vic was doing real sympathy.  The world was ending!  He made a brief noise that might have been an affirmative.

“I think you need to go home. I’ll meet you there and bring the alcohol,” offered Victoria. “You can tell me more.”

Definite ‘no’ then.

“You’re meeting her tonight?”

“Planned it before you realized how old she was.”

* * *

 

Jemma had emailed him twice since their night together. Once had been a bubbly, sex with you had been amazing, hope it was ok with you as I’d love to stay in touch email which YES, HE HAD SAVED IT BECAUSE IT HAD BEEN YEARS SINCE SOMEONE HAD CARNALLY COMPLIMENTED HIM, ok? In response to his invite to call him whenever she was in DC, had been a brief email asking if they might meet up that night. He had agreed prior to realizing she **_was Jemma Simmons_**.

One half of the FitzSimmons Science Twins!

And twenty five years old. Had he mentioned that yet?

He should have cancelled their meeting.

 He should have, however Jemma was coming off a rather traumatic mission. Her former mentor at the Academy, Franklin Hall, had died in a Coulson mishap. Felix knew and accepted that Coulson and mishap went together like a horse and carriage. Who was he kidding? Coulson went together with carnage, death and widespread destruction like peanut butter and fluffer nutter. Usually interstellar entities were involved and small towns were utterly destroyed.

However it was probably different for Simmons, as well, she was young. (Had he mentioned that she was twenty five?)

He had been home for almost an hour, had hidden anything that screamed ‘SECRET AGENT’, ‘TOP LEVEL CLEARANCE’ or ‘SHIELD’, by the time Jemma called. He even used his Dyson vacuum cleaner to rid the furniture of Fyodor’s grey blue hair. After all, he and the Russian Blue cat were the same coloring and he didn’t want Simmons to fear that he losing his hair at an astronomical rate.  It was more of a gradual loss.

“Hi,” she sniffled. Her voice was shaky and she sniffled once again. “I think I need to cancel tonight. I’m sorry.”

“You ok?” he asked. What a stupid question, she sounded like hell.

“A friend died … and I don’t think I’m good company right now. It was… unexpected.”

Well, yes, having your former professor fall into a big ball of gravitonium was a bit of a surprise, Felix thought.

“Are you planning on staying in your hotel room? By yourself?”

“Yes,” was her sniffled response.

“Come on over. You shouldn’t be alone tonight,” he offered. “I’ll make dinner. You ever have varenyky? Russian comfort food, you’ll love them.”

* * *

 

“You’ll keep an eye on Fitz, please?” Jemma asked Skye as she left the hotel. “He and Professor Hall were kindred spirits.”

“You’re **_leaving_**?” Skye protested.  “Fitz **_needs_** you.”

“It’s just too much for me right now,” confessed a tearful Jemma. “Being with Fitz would just compound what I’m feeling. Since it…it… happened, we really haven’t had a moment apart and I need some time alone.”

“ ** _Michael_** lives nearby?” was Skye’s question.

“He’s making dinner,” Jemma admitted. “Go stay with Fitz, please.”

“I want to meet this Michael fellow. Make sure he’s good enough for you,” Skye insisted as she felt quite protective of her big sister, Jemma. “I mean understand that physically… things were wonderful between you two. But what do you know about him? Really? You won’t even give me his full name so I can  research him.”

“I won’t give you this name, as he has kind eyes,” Jemma softly admitted.  “He seems that he could be a little abrasive, but his eyes are quite kind. That’s enough as it’s not serious between us.”

“I’ll stay with Fitz then. You need some Jemma time,” Skye decided.

* * *

They weren’t going to have sex, Felix informed himself. They would remain clothed and upright and PROFESSIONAL, because he couldn’t take advantage of a grieving Jemma.  Even though only he knew that he outranked her, this relationship still violated every SHIELD regulation regarding fraternization. 

That worked really, really well until she arrived on his door step. After he let her into his apartment, she desperately clung to him, in dire need of physical and emotional comfort.

And yes, he took her directly to bed.

Unlike their first time which had been more athletic, he took his time to emotionally reassure and physically console her, to give her the emotional comfort she needed. He then held her until she fell asleep.

**_Fuck. Fuck, fuck. She’s twenty five years old, Felix! You shouldn’t have made love to her, but she’s not getting the emotional support she needed from her team. She came here for that. Damn you, Coulson. She’s your team member!_ **

After a much needed nap as she was emotionally and physically exhausted, Jemma woke to the delicious smells of dinner being prepared. She pulled on her clothes and walked to the kitchen, uncertain of how Felix would react to her. After all, she had uncontrollably cried all over him and then pushed him towards his bed.

Fyodor, who was busy supervising his pet’s cooking, gave her a happy chirp and she gently rubbed his cheek, which caused the Russian Blue to purr still louder.

“Hey,” she said in greeting.

“Sleep well?” Felix asked. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Yes, I had a nice nap. I’m really glad I came here,” she admitted. “Though I wish I hadn’t cried all over you.”

“You needed a good cry, it’s tough losing a friend. And Jemma, anytime you’re in the area, you’re more than welcome here,” Felix offered.

Jemma Simmons smiled. Gratefully.


	5. 5

Felix carefully placed a plate full of varenyky in front of Jemma. She picked up a fork, rather gingerly, he noticed and she then smiled after her first, appreciative bite. “This is delicious. Mum’s recipe?”

“No, it’s from the local Russian orthodox church. They sell them as a fundraiser and I buy them by the gross in a variety of different flavors.  That way I have something easy to prepare after a long day of data crunching. I picked up a Napoleon cake, also. Decided against thawing the borscht. It’s an acquired taste, though since it’s my Babushka’s recipe, it’s incredible.”

He then sat down to his own heaping plate of varenyky and pointed out the various filing contents. “Mushroom, potato and mushroom, potato and cheese.”

They ate in companionable silence and then Felix asked, “How long are you in town?”

Jemma’s brief smile was thoughtful. “I don’t know. Planning on two days, but…” Her voice trailed off into an uncertain stop.

“You could have an emergency party,” Felix glibly added.  “Right now, someone is probably deciding that they need a Shetland pony with a star shaped mark on her right eye for their daughter’s birthday. Your phone will ring and you’ll disappear.”

“I don’t do ponies,” Jemma quietly stated. “No ponies at all.”

“Hey,” Felix held out his hand in the universal ‘don’t shoot’ position. “Just saying I understand that you can’t give me a definite answer. That you might have to run out quickly, without any warning, and I’m ok with that. Just promise me that you’ll give yourself time to rest and to grieve. Don’t throw yourself into your work so completely so you don’t have to think about it. Don’t let your boss guilt you into that.”

Because Phil Coulson created that sense of loyalty in his subordinates.

“I’m glad you understand,” she murmured.

“Once upon a time, a long, long, long time ago, I was a cop. I lost my wife as I let the job consume me. But in fairness, she was a cop also, and the job consumed her.”  He watched Simmons, categorized her exhaustion and then he offered, “After dinner, why you take a nice long shower. We can watch a movie, you can relax and decompress.”

She was tempted, but she tried to be cheeky.

“Do you think I need a shower?” she teased. She dramatically sniffed, and added, “I don’t think I smell ripe.”

“You look jet lagged, and the last time I was on a plane, they didn’t have much in the way of tubs, plus my shower is much nicer than a Marriott.  I actually have hot and cold running water, while most of the time hotel’s showers are at best lukewarm,” he stated. “I’m sure I can find a t-shirt you can wear. With our height difference you can wear it as a dress.”

* * *

 

She took a long shower after dinner, as Felix had assured her that he had plenty of hot water. Jemma didn’t have a great deal of experience using a man’s shower (as she had to use Fitz’s ONCE and NEVER AGAIN) but everything looked spotless.  Much to her relief as she knew what could lurk in the shower stall. He pulled out a series of clean towels from the closet for her and included a new unwrapped bar of soap.

However with her generous host being male, her choices were limited; ivory soap and his shampoo was a brand she didn’t know. She took an experimental sniff and … well it wasn’t her usual flowery scent. It would do, as she needed to permit herself privacy for a nice sob for Dr. Hall.

After drying off, Jemma found Felix sitting in his couch in his living room. He was wearing glasses and he was intently reading a hardcover book so she was content merely to watch him. After flipping a few pages, he put the book down, placed a throw pillow on his lap and then patted it.

“Come on, lie down,” he offered.

Jemma decided to lie supine with her head in his lap and then she asked what he had been reading.

“Rereading, actually. **_The Martian_** by Andy Weir. It’s about an astronaut who has to survive on Mars solo. I found it a real page-turner, plus the science’s good.  No ray guns, no green skinned aliens with antennas,” he explained as he rubbed his index finger against her face.  

“You don’t believe in….” she stopped as his hand slipped under the neck of his t-shirt that she wore.

His hand stopped its gentle exploration.

“I believe in stopping if the lady so desires.”

“Lady doesn’t,” Jemma confessed. “Lady is just surprised that…”

“A man of my age might be physically capable of….” He began. The wiggle of his eyebrows left no doubt what he didn’t say.

“The man in question actually finds her sexually attractive,” she blurted.

“He does,” Felix admitted.  “You’re really beautiful.”

She blushed, happily, seemingly quite unused to being complimented on her beauty. No doubt being one half of the science twins, she was acquainted with accolades and commendations on her brains. He’d remember to treat her like a woman, not an Einstein-level genius, on their stolen moments together.

Jemma pounced then, and her nefarious intent was obvious; to pull him back into the bedroom.

Damn, damn, damn, he wasn’t seventeen. Not for far too many years, and while the mind was willing (Fuck yes!) the body was out getting a pack of cigarettes and some chips. Jemma continued to entice him towards his bedroom, a location which could prove rather ego crushing for him.

His panicked mind offered him numerous solutions however most were John Garrett level of ridiculousness as there were no skylights to fall through.

*ping!* his mind churned out an idea and it was a damn good one. He did do some of his best work while faced with a loaded gun. (Or unloaded in this case).

“No, no, no,” he protested. “My place, my rules, I’m in charge. Go to the bedroom, and sit on the edge of the bed. I’ll be right there.”

She looked uncertain.

“I think you’ll like this,” he promised. He’d take his time, perhaps the Cavalry would arrive in time to save the day. (Oh Fuck, he did not THINK OF HIS EX-WIFE, did he? The mental image of a leather-clad Melinda May kicking in his apartment door in the midst of him going down on Simmons just increased his refractory period. TENTHOUSANDFOLD.)  “You enjoy oral sex, don’t you?”

“I don’t swallow,” she softly admitted.

“Ok, maybe I should rephrase my question. You enjoy receiving oral sex don’t you?” Felix asked.  Most of his partners claimed to enjoy it, though he had his doubts about that one, she had been too inhibited, too prim. “You’ll sit on the edge of the bed and all you’ll need to do, is enjoy. I do all the work.”

He smiled, his best bad boy smile, and Jemma just weakly smiled.

“What would you like me to do to make you more comfortable with this?” Blake softly prompted.

“Would you hold my hand?” She asked.

“Yes.”

* * *

 

Felix sat next to her on the bed, and then kissed her on her lips. Slow kisses which made her relax, well, not completely relax as she felt… a good tightness.  It was difficult to think, rationally, between Felix’s kisses and his slow hands.  When he knelt between his legs and began to gently kiss her there, well, she could manage thoughts like, ‘OGOODGODYES’ and ‘TEASE’ - that was the limit of her  once expansive vocabulary.

He had just gotten her off, spectacularly, as in fireworks inducing, legs quivering spectacular when her bloody phone rang.  Her breathing was still ragged when she answered.

“Simmons,” she stated. Long pause. “No, no, no.  I was on the treadmill when you called.”

Bastard decided to stay where he was while she was on the phone, and kiss her inner thighs. Repeatedly. Which was quite lovely, she had found out firsthand, but she couldn’t think when he did that.

“Sweden? Really, Sweden? And we’re leaving when?” Jemma swatted at his head and missed which earned her a breathy and thankfully quiet chuckle against her inner thigh. “Ok, I’ll be at the airport. I’ll catch my own ride as I need to grab a few items.”

She disconnected her phone and called someone else, “Hi – it’s me. You’ve already got my bags ready? You’re amazing. I’ll meet you at the airport.”

Jemma then disconnected her call, and sighed, “Have to go.”

“Sweden, which means meatgalls and gravalax,” Felix stated. “Get dressed. You can take the train and you can get to the airport within twenty minutes. Stay away from the Surströmming. It’s murder on one’s stomach.”

He managed to get off the floor without his knees creaking too loudly (yay!) and he walked to the kitchen. If Simmons was heading towards Sweden, well, he’d ensure she’d have to something to eat, because Coulson would probably insisted on the fermented fish. He placed the remainder of the Napoleon cake into a refrigerated tote bag, added some ice packs and threw in several containers of varenyky  and had prepared her a traveling mug of hot tea by the time she was dressed.  Because Sweden was a long flight, even with the mobile command unit, he threw in **_The Martian_**. Just in case she got tired of biochem, she could have something else to read.

“Here,” he stated. “Tea and food. Don’t let your boss talk you into eating the fermented fish. It’s not fun, and the affects linger for days, no matter what he or she says about it being good jolly fun.”

She melted into his arms and kissed him.

“Sorry I have to leave you,” she whispered. “Especially since you’re really quite keen. I really would like to reciprocate, but I’d miss my plane, as I want to tease you like you did me.”

“Get out,” he mock growled. “You know how to get to the train station from here?”

“One block,” she stated. “You better stay here, else you’ll be arrested for lewd conduct, with what you’re sporting.”

“Out!” he pointed, and so a giggling Simmons did. He closed the door behind her and then shook his head in annoyance.

**_Now, you show up, late to the party with a happy, ‘Hi! I’m here, ready for the party’. Well, the party left, boyo, so it’s a cold shower for you._ **

****

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. 6

“Where is Simmons?” Phil Coulson requested as he counted his team and came up one short. “We’re ready to leave, except she’s not here.”

Ward tsk’d his disapproval.  Melinda May looked expressionless, as was her norm.

“She needed to get a few things,” Skye bubbled. “ ** _Personal_** things. Besides, she won’t be late for takeoff for another twelve minutes. She’ll be here.”

Coulson, in spite of his inherent bravery as exemplified by facing a demigod and dying due to his cheek, blanched and left the scene. However he tried to keep his reputation secure by tossing over his shoulder, “Inform me when she arrives. Also, she should know that we can order whatever her preference is when we place our inventory order.”

Melinda May followed Coulson, but Fitz thought there was a glimmer of amusement in her supposedly expressionless eyes.

Fitz slapped a very confused Ward in the ribs, relishing how Ward flinched. “He means…. Feminine supplies.”

Ward fled also.

After checking to confirm that the coast was clear, a concerned Fitz focused on serious business. That being Simmons’ love life. “Have you met this Michael fellow yet?” Fitz asked.                                                                

“No. I guess you haven’t either?” Skye questioned.

Fitz shook his head. “I know he’s older but apparently he’s the wizard between the sheets. I mean, when she returns from a sleep over, she collapses in her bunk and sleeps the day away.”

“Plus the utterly blissful smile,” Skye reminded Fitz. “He must be hung like a Clydesdale.”

Jemma Simmons bounded into the Bus then. Her face was glowing, there was a bounce in her step, and her unruly hair had been restrained into a tight ponytail.   In one hand, she carried a travel mug, in the other, she was weighed by down by a Whole Foods refrigerated tote bag.

“We’ll have cake later,” she bubbled. “It’s really good cake. I’ll put it in the mini fridge in my sleeping cube so Ward can’t find it. When’s the debriefing?”

“In three hours when we get closer to Sweden,” Fitz informed her.

“Great. I need a bit of a kip,” she bubbled as she bounced towards her cube.

“Kip?” Skye asked.

“Nap,” Fitz explained.

“You can tell AC that she’s arrived. Fitz, I want to speak to her about Michael.”

* * *

 

Skye was more than a little concerned about ‘Michael’, especially as it was her fault, kinda, not really, but really, her fault that the rather inexperienced Simmons (but highly intelligent!) was having a tawdry affair with a much older man. She was distracted by her S.O. momentarily, as he seemed to desire to regain her respect after “The Flight of the Tampons”.  MEN!  Ward didn’t realize that she didn’t respect him like she did AC or… god forbid MAY.  He would sulk if he knew that she just viewed him as a big brother who endeavored to be large and in charge when the parents weren’t around. And failed **_miserably_**.

When she arrived at Simmons’ sleeping pod, she found Simmons sitting cross-legged on her bed, happily smiling as she examined two postcards. The biochemist then opened a hardcover book and placed them as book markers.

“I didn’t know you collected postcards,” Skye prompted. Knowing full well that Jemma didn’t, she anticipated that Jemma would clarify why they were in her possession.

“It’s from Michael. One is from New York City and one is from DC,” Jemma explained.    “One for each date night.”

“Can I see?”

Jemma handed the book to her.  Skye opened the book – hoped that there were would be a clue on the postcards.

None. Just a comic style drawing of a cat on each postcard and a comic paw print.

“Jemma, I’m a little worried about Michael.” There. That was a good beginning. Plus being true as well, Skye truly was worried, as she knew nothing about Jemma’s man except for the fact that he seemed extremely capable in sexually satisfying Simmons.

“You don’t have to be,” insisted Jemma.

“I want to meet him, scope him out. Fitz and I…” Skye began.

“I don’t want you to meet him,” Jemma stated. “I understand why you’re worried, but I don’t want you to meet him. Let me just enjoy this for a bit? Please?”

“The sex? I’m not jumping into bed with him, just scoping him out, checking his credit score, traffic violations,” explained Skye.

“No, I want to keep this world separate from him,” Jemma swept her arms dramatically to include the cube, Skye, the bus… everything SHIELD related. “I need what he gives me, and it’s not just the sex, Skye.”

“What does he give you?” Skye asked.

“He makes me feel…” Jemma stopped and shook her head.

“Yes, I think Fitz and I are well aware that he’s given you the Big O repeatedly,” Skye confessed.  “But…”

“He makes me feel like I’m….,” Jemma whispered and stopped. “I mean… sometimes the way he looks at me… I feel…. “

She hung her long hair in her face and shook her head.

“He makes you feel…. Sexually desirable?”

Head shake.

“Pretty?” Skye prompted, damning herself for being piss poor at board games.

“Like I’m **_beautiful_** ,” Jemma whispered so softly that Skye had to repeat it out loud to confirm her understanding.

“Like you’re **_beautiful_**? Jemma, you **_are_** , you don’t need date some guy because he tells you that. You are beautiful.”

“My mother always told me that,” Jemma admitted. “But I’ve never been the beautiful one. That’s my sister. I’ve always been the brilliant one, the smart one, the one you go to when you need the answer to question 17. I’ve shagged but it’s always been… different.  Michael… He’s focused on my enjoyment and… even **_then_** …”

A quick gesture with both hands left a blushing Skye with no doubt what part was classified as ‘then’.

“He slows the pace instead of being a jackhammer… It’s…. different… with him. I don’t want to lose it,” Jemma admitted. “I like… being beautiful. I like… waking up in the middle of the night and realizing that he wants to make love again. That he still desires to see me again after we shagged. Skye, I had to leave and he didn’t get angry, instead he made me a care package with dinner and a dessert. He lent me a book he was reading as he thought I’d enjoy it and… the bookmarks were two postcards from our two dates. He even drew a picture of his cat on them.”

Jemma smiled a sad smile.

“I know it won’t last for long.  I’m always out of town, but for now…. I like being beautiful. I want to enjoy the stolen moments for as long as I can. I need this life outside of the Bus for however long I’m permitted to have it.”

Skye exhaled, slowly. “Ok, I won’t investigate him, but if he breaks your heart, I’ll destroy his credit score and get his work email address flooded with advertisements for penis enlargement products.”

“Really doesn’t need it,” Jemma admitted with a happy blush.

* * *

 

“Agent Blake.”

Felix Blake was returning back to his workspace, the Space Age Dungeon of Monitors, when he heard Victoria Hand. In one hand, he held ambrosia, a perfectly brewed cup of coffee from that little shop on 97th that no one knew about, and in the other, a sandwich.

“Office.” She continued, which meant he neatly pivoted on one foot to turn and face her.

“Actually, finish your dinner first,” was the next order. In a softer voice, which meant that he wasn’t being reprimanded, she added, “I know how tetchy you get when you’re not fed.”

He permitted his face to unbend enough to quirk his lips. Just enough so that she’d know that he would meet her later at his apartment, several blocks away from the office and he acknowledged that she was kicking him out of the office.

As he anticipated, she arrived at his apartment with Isabelle Hartley in tow some time later. They were also carrying take out, so he motioned for Isabelle that the kitchen was hers.

“Social call?” he quipped.

“Naturally,” she stated.

Which meant it wasn’t. They both confirmed that there weren’t any detectable bugs in Felix’s apartment and then Vic got down to business.

“You been promoted, technically, but you’re not getting a level update, nor a pay raise, I’m afraid,” she informed him. “You’re now the Bus Monitor for Coulson’s Flying Circus.”

His role in SHIELD was data analyst but those who were level 9 or higher, knew that he was technically A Monitor, SHIELD’s version of Internal Affairs. He had been a member of the Rat Squad for some time, ever since he had reported his S.O. for actions unbecoming. It had been a horrendous decision, but his moral code, installed by his mother and grandmother and their stories of the Cheka and the unchecked Red Terror, refused any other option.

He had to be careful, as it was what he wanted, so he could protect Simmons.  But not too enthusiastic which would cause Vic to become suspicious. He should be able to confide in Izzie, because she understood about having a relationship with a senior SHIELD Agent, but… she’d tell Vic.  He wasn’t sure if Vic would turn a blind eye or have him use his connection to Simmons to further spy on Coulson.  She was pragmatic to a fault.

“My ex-wife is on the team, I don’t know if I should be responsible for being the Bus Monitor. Is there no one else?”

“No one knows her better than you,” Vic reminded him.

“Yes, you’re right. Seriously Vic, I never knew she was in love with Coulson when I married her,” he growled. “If I had known, I would never have rented the tux.”

It had fucking hurt like blazes that the woman he loved, lit up when she saw Phil.  The look had never been for him, it had been reserved only for Coulson, no matter what he had tried, what he had done, he had never gotten that soft look in her eyes directed towards him. HER HUSBAND.  To this day, he had no idea why she had asked him to marry her.  Or why she had married Andy Garner, PhD soon afterwards

He had written his last alimony check to her with a flourish and had hand delivered it to her the day before her upcoming nuptials to Garner, along with some hard earned advice.

“Word of counsel, MeiMei, from someone who’s been through it. If you’re still in love with Coulson, don’t marry Andy.”

She had nearly thrown a chair at him but her Mother had known he spoke the truth.  He had always liked the no-nonsense Mamma May, and she still called him her favorite son-in-law, which was both touching and funny as hell… and sad.  Garner had tried to psychologically analyze DragonLady May and had ended shredded for his troubles. Felix had just accepted Mamma May as she was.

“There’s only a few of us that know that, of which you’re the only one that’s a Monitor. You’re Bus Monitor now,” Vic explained. “You need to catch up quickly. They located Akela Amador and she’s being brought back for trial. I need you to review everything, tell me why you think Coulson acted the way he did, because something is off.”

“I’ll look at it now,” he offered.

“No, no, no. I want to hear about this woman you’re seeing,” Isabelle insisted as she returned to his living room. “And contrary to Vic’s opinion, it’s very fun and quite educational to be the younger woman in a relationship.”

“You’re three months younger than Vic,” protested Felix.

“And it’s been very educational. Now spill,” Izzie demanded.

“No, it’s still new and it’s not very serious. I’ll let you know when it gets serious, promise,” Felix lied. “For now, it’s enjoyable.”

“In other words, you’re getting sex,” Izzie explained to Vic. In a very dry tone, she added, “I remember those days. Fondly.”

“Who’s always getting pulled away?” Vic reminded Izzie.

* * *

 

He spent the next morning viewing and reviewing the Amador file. Coulson wasn’t acting like the Coulson he knew. Giving second chances, not calling in a task force… Amador ramming the van that had held SIMMONS… still hadn’t been enough for Coulson to admit that his team needed help.  He reviewed it once more, sent his report to Hand and then texted Simmons from his personal burner cell when he was at lunch outside the building.

**_Meet any Vikings? Should I be jealous?_ **

A few hours later when he was feeding the Emperor, Fyodor, his phone buzzed.

**_No Vikings. Was in a minor car accident. Just some abrasions, contusions and soreness. I’m back in the States for the next few days.  Glad as I’m tired._ **

**_You in DC? Come on over._ **

**_Should I bring anything?_ **

**_Just yourself. Your laundry if you want. Mi casa es tu Casa. Mi washer es tu washer._ **

There was a knock on his door then, and Fyodor happily chirped. Felix went to the door and peered through the spyhole to discover Simmons was outside his door. She looked uncertain, exhausted and, yes, there was several facial abrasions.

**_Damn it, Coulson.  What the hell was going on?_ **

He opened the door and he smiled at her, “Alina, come on in.”

“Alina? Are you anticipating someone else?” she nervously asked.

“It’s a Russian girl’s name. It means beautiful,” he explained even as her face transformed from tired into one of pure joy. And it was most assuredly directed towards him. “Alina, you look tired. Come in, and I will take care of you.”

She embraced him tightly and he hugged her back.

“Don’t you worry, Jemma. I’ll take really good care of you.” He promised.

He would protect her as well as he could. It would have to be enough.

 


	7. 7

When Jemma woke, she was alone in Felix’s bed. She slowly stretched and then sat up in the bed, pulling the covers over her.  With a very contented sigh, she ran one hand through her unruly hair and decided to give it up as a lost cause. Out of an ingrained sense of obligation, she briefly glanced at her phone, decided that all her messages could wait, and she rolled onto Felix’s side of the bed. It was lukewarm, so he had left some time earlier.

His Dropkick Murphy t-shirt was on the chair next to bed, so she claimed it as she had no idea where her clothes were.  They had gone missing rather early on in the evening, which would have proved embarrassing in case of a fire. Next time, she wouldn’t let Blake’s sweet kisses and wandering hands prevent her from noticing where her clothes had landed.  After getting dressed in his t-shirt which hung long enough to make her presentable but barely, she grabbed his robe and wrapped it around her.

She viewed herself in his mirror, decided that she looked like the very personification of debauchery. Oh, if Ward could only see her now, it would knock his smug grin off his perfect features. Fitz would approve and Skye would be jealous.

Jemma had reached the hallway when she heard voices. Two male voice softly talking, and then silence.  Not being suitably dressed for company, she waited until the door closed and then she watched Felix walk into the kitchen with a bag emblazoned with a restaurant logo.

“Busted,” he admitted when he realized that he had a witness to his nefarious plans to impress her with his cooking skills.  He grinned a very mischievous smile. “I wanted to serve you breakfast in bed, but apparently I didn’t wear you out. I had planned it perfectly. When you woke you would have been utterly impressed with my crepes and in awe of my creativity and stamina.”

“You ordered **_delivery_** ,” she murmured. “I would have been impressed with **_Cristabelle’s_** Crepes.”

“The lady delivers more than glancing blow to my ego, as she is not impressed with neither my creativity nor my stamina. Very well, I am making you real tea,” he mock protested. “With a tea strainer and **_everything_**.”

“Infuser,” she stated. “Strainers are for pasta.”

“Like what I said, a tea strainer,” he continued. He snapped his fingers and requested that she get back in bed.  “Or you can sit at the table while I unpack. However, naked crepes sounds like fun.”

She smiled and leaned towards him. “It certainly sounds like fun.  Also, let the record show, I am in awe of your creativity and exhausted by your stamina.”

To her delight, he didn’t blush, but he bobbed his head and smiled, which was close. With their increasing familiarity, she was fluent in his subtle expressions.

“I’ll set the table at least,” she offered.

* * *

 

“These are really delicious crepes,” Jemma informed Felix as she finished her savory crepe. “My compliments to Cristabelle.”

“I’ll tell her next time I see her,” Blake dryly admitted, as he handed her a cuppa of perfectly brewed tea. Additional points were awarded as he acquired real sugar cubes for her tea. It was her one real vice, as sugar packets and brewed tea were a sacrilege.

“You didn’t have to order out for breakfast,” Jemma protested as she took the cup. “Tea and toast would have been more than sufficient.”

He took a long sip of his coffee and tilted his head.

“No food in the kitchen,” Blake explained. “I usually just have coffee for breakfast, and I didn’t get to the store before you called. A good host ensures that his guests have breakfast after they stay the night. Fyodor offered to share his food, but I told him, ‘no thanks’.”

Jemma removed the infuser from her cup and she laughed when she realized what it was. “A Tardis infuser?”

“I saw it, thought of you. Picked it up in the off chance I’d see you again,” Blake admitted.  “Been saving it for your next sleepover.”

“You weren’t sure?” She asked.

“I was hoping,” he admitted. He leaned back to let her decide how to answer.

“I was also,” was her shy confession. “I like whatever this is between us.”

It was sex and companionship, a chance at the normalcy that the child prodigy Jemma had never experienced.  Quick text messages and stolen moments on the rare times their schedules intersected. On the best times, there were cuddles and quiet conversation, and t-shirts that smelled of his cologne.  And yes, she planned on stealing this shirt as her nightshirt.

“It’s Crepes and Tardises,” offered Blake. “Plus companionship.  Meet long enough so we want to meet again, and not long enough so you’d get tired of me.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she laughed.

“My coworkers hate me,” Blake drolly admitted. “I am quite abrasive.”

“I find that very hard to believe,” she repeated.

“That’s because I made you crepes,” Felix stated as he sagely nodded his head. “I don’t make crepes for just anyone.”

Jemma answered in the best possible way, by saying nothing but not bothering to hide her amusement. Her warm smile brightened his soul, and he prayed that he wasn’t smiling like the complete idiot he was. Really, he must have done something right to deserve someone like Jemma popping in and out of his life (and bed).

“OK, I don’t order crepes for just anyone. Any idea how long you’re in the area for?” He knew that Coulson’s team had a week’s downtime, but he wasn’t anticipating that she’d stay the week. Maybe a day or two, and then she’d return back to the hotel Coulson had acquired for his team. (Which he had reviewed and he had approved of the security system). Phil had her staying with the hacker, which meant it was easier for Jemma to slip out.

“We have some down time,” admitted Jemma.

“Until your next party,” Felix easily admitted.

They ate in silence for a bit, and then Felix spoke. “Have you taken any self-defense classes? I worry, what with you being young, pretty and slight, traveling to far off countries. I can teach you, if you’d like. I used to teach classes. Or I have a female friend who would help. I’ll ask her if you’d feel more comfortable with her teaching you the basics.”

He had read and reread Jemma scores on her hand to hand skills. Hopeless, had been one caustic comment. As pitiful as a wet kitten, had been another assessment. However Felix knew that she could turn her supposed sweetness into a powerful defense. She was so sweet, but spirited.

And he was risking a great deal in asking Izzie for her help. While she wouldn’t turn him in for fraternization (Pot, kettle, Victoria Hand, Marriage in VEGAS where Felix had been the Best Straight Man), it could blow his cover as a data analyst. The odds were slim that Jemma had ever met Izzie, as she was so deep undercover that he didn’t see Izziebelle for months at a time.

However the very idea that he’d would let her sashay off with Coulson without any means of defending herself made his blood run cold. Felix M. Blake was a bastard, and he’d admit it but he wasn’t that much of a bastard.

“I lack the sheer mass to be very intimidating,” she protested.

“I’m not saying hand to hand self-defense. I’m talking, a knee to the balls dirty defense. Hair spray in the eyes, car keys to the face, fire extinguishers to the back of the head type defense.”

“A poolstick as a weapon,” offered Simmons.

“The boys made the mistake of underestimating me because of the grey hair.” He played with his lovely graying hair and impersonated them. “Hey look, it’s grandpa. Well, sonny, grandpa doesn’t play fair.”

The cantankerous quaver in his voice made her smile. Jemma leaned towards him and whispered, “I’m glad they did, as I’m really having a lovely time with you.”

* * *

 

Later the afternoon after some very spirited shagging.

“Now, the most important aspect of being able to defend yourself is what?” Blake asked.

Jemma had stolen another one of his t-shirts for her self-defense training. This one was from a bar in Portland, Maine, and it was ridiculously large on her.

“Carry yourself like you can,” Jemma decided.  “Like this.”

She then struck a pose that would have made Melinda May proud. Strong, fierce and her best ‘Fuck with me and live to regret it’ attitude and Blake just stared at her. He struggled not to quirk his lips but failed as one corner twitched.

“Don’t do that look. You remind me of my ex-wife,” Blake protested. He shuddered in mock horror for added emphasis.

“How long were you married?” Jemma asked as she melted back into Jemma.  She grimaced and covered her face as she realized that perhaps it wasn’t a question to ask.

Felix removed her hands from her face even while he laughed.                                    

“Less than a year, yet too long to actually justify an annulment. I divorced her once I realized that she was in love with another man,” Felix admitted. “Then two years later, she married another guy who STILL wasn’t the man she loved. Hey, I loved her, but she didn’t love me. Never got a straight answer on why she married me.”

He shrugged his shoulders in mock defeat.

“Her loss,” Jemma decided which caused Blake to laugh.

“No, no, no. I’m best in small, controlled dosages,” he explained.  “However, this has sidetracked our original discussion. You need to know it in your soul that the best way you can defend yourself is do not be afraid to **_act_**. The odds of you meeting someone with a ready pool stick to defend you, is poor. Don’t be afraid to defend yourself. Hesitancy may cause you to be hurt, badly. So let’s try the palm heel strike I demonstrated to you earlier.”

She just stared at him, and then she shook her head after he once again prompted her.

“Come on, you know what you have to do.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she protested. At his bemused look she added an indignant, “Ok, I don’t want to try to hurt you.”

“I rather doubt that you will,” he stated.  “Don’t do it full strength, just enough to make contact.”

Really, Felix Blake had reviewed her records and knew that Jemma Simmons was an overachiever. He had only himself to blame for the black eye she bestowed upon him.

However, Jemma making it up to him made it quite worthwhile.

Next class, he paid Izzie to train Jemma after a sincere plea for discretion.

* * *

 

Their relationship progressed, slowly, steadily. Still mainly for sex, sometimes for just companionship, a movie, a meal. Felix had long accepted that he was a curmudgeon and that no sane woman would deal with him for extended periods. Sometimes, he’d travel a few hours to meet her in NYC or Philadelphia if she had a layover there.  They had overlapped in London for four marvelous hours and it had been completely worth the frantic drive to Heathrow to catch his plane back to the States.

As Bus Monitor, he kept his eyes firmly on Coulson and his Flying Circus. He read the assignment reports over and over to the point where he could repeat them verbatim. The incident with Torch,… sorry Sparky, Human FireFly… made him increasingly concerned about Jemma.  With a renewed fervor, he continued to work on her with her self-defense, the ability to scan a room for possible weapons and her very Jemmaness, but he despaired.

She was too good for this world. Far too good for likes of him and … then Victoria Hand informed him of his worst fear.

“One of Agent Coulson’s team members has contracted a Chitauri virus. At this time, there is no known cure. We cannot risk a possible pandemic if she spreads the contagion. You are to inform Coulson that he is to initiate the Infected Cargo protocol.”

“The scientists have determined that it’s not spread through water like Typhoid?” Blake asked. His voice was calm and composed even though he knew the most likely member of Coulson’s Flying Circus to be infected was Jemma.

Victoria Hand stood, and squeezed his hand. A quick and completely unanticipated compassionate gesture which meant that Izzie had spilled his secret during pillow talk with Hand.

“I’ll do my duty,” Felix Blake informed Victoria Hand. “Have no doubts about that, Director Hand.”

“I had no doubts, Felix,” she quietly stated. “We’ll get drunk later.”

He nodded. He left the room and returned to his Monitors. He had only a few minutes to come up with a plan, a way to manipulate the new Coulson into giving Simmons more time to find a cure.

After he reviewed his mental chess game, he composed himself, and opened the line to Agent Coulson.

“Coulson, it’s nice to see that you’re not dead,” Blake stated as he put his Queen into play on the board.

 


	8. 8

His desperate plan to assure Jemma Simmons had more time worked, as the NuCoulson decided to cut the connection with the most unbelievable excuse. **_Bad connection_** , please! However, if Coulson wished to self-destruct, Felix Blake wouldn’t mind.  Now, naysayers to the contrary, he didn’t hate Phil Coulson. No, there were too many years since his marriage had whimpered to an end for him to still hold a grudge. However, he wouldn’t mind if he never had to deal with him again because Coulson’s disasters made more work for him.

Dutifully, he reported his conversation with Coulson to Victoria Hand. She digested it and as he attempted to leave, she told him that they were heading out for a smoke.

“You court-martialing me, Vic?”  He questioned as they shared a lighter.

“Like I can say anything?” Hand retorted. “She doesn’t know, does she?”

“My employer? My role? No, when we met I told her I was a data analyst. She told me she was a party planner.”

He sniffed his disbelief over her lousy cover story, but that was Simmons, honest to a fault.  No doubt she had written up a thesis on why party planning was EXACTLY like being a member of Coulson’s Flying Circus.  For example, there was always plenty of cleanup required.

“By the way, Izzie didn’t confess anything. Her responses to my questions about your girlfriend…” Hand began.

“I don’t think she’s my girlfriend,” Felix protested.

“Don’t be a bigger idiot, Felix. Anyway I made a quip, about your… friend… being a SHIELD agent, that’s why you wouldn’t introduce her to me. Izzie had a slight pause before she informed me that the real reason was that you were be afraid that I would try to seduce her. You admitted her age, that and how you tensed when I gave you your assignment. You forget how well I know you, Felix,” Hand informed him.

“Has anyone else guessed?” **_Please, God no._**

“No,” she admitted.

His phone rang, his burner cell, with a catchy ‘She blinded me with Science’ ringtone.

* * *

 

After Jemma Simmons spoke to Agent Coulson regarding her wish for him to inform her father first, she then asked for a few moments with Skye. Skye struggled to hide her tears but a pragmatic Jemma just shook her head.

“I want to leave a private message for Michael,” Jemma explained. “You can’t help, can you? What with the nanny bracelet?”

“Call that number, enter 94795 after dial a prayer begins, then  dial Michael’s number after you hear a high pitched whine,” Skye explained after she rattled off a 888 number . “It’s how I could call… **_him_** …. When I was here.”

“Thank you,” Jemma whispered. It took her sometime to compose herself, before she was able to speak. “If anything happens to m-m-mme… I want you to call him and let him know that I’m gone. Here’s his number. Promise me that you’ll call him, you’ll have to come up with a reasonable explanation.”

Skye nodded her head and then announced, “I promise but I’m not planning on calling him.”

“If you do, tell him he made me very happy, please,” whispered Jemma. “I liked… being… beautiful. Can everyone leave me alone for a bit? I want some privacy when I call him.”

Jemma sank to the floor and put her back to the glass door that separated her from the rest of team. 

* * *

 

“Simmons is calling her boyfriend so she needs us to give her some privacy,” Skye requested as she shooed everyone away from Jemma.

Phil Coulson’s head bobbed as he repeated, “ ** _Boyfriend_**?”

“Don’t worry, he thinks she’s a party planner,” Fitz explained “He doesn’t know what she really does for a living.”

“Boyfriend?” Coulson repeated as he feared another Boyfriend Episode (See Skye for details). “Party planner?”

“She’s **_still_** dating that guy that you set her up with?” Ward asked.

“Skye? Is there something you should share?” Phil asked.

“I didn’t set her up with Michael.  He and his pool stick came to her rescue when those two guys got fresh. Michael’s very nice,” Skye offered. “He’s older than her, but he treats her really well.”

“She says the sex…” Fitz paused at Coulson’s horrified look. “Is none of our business.”

“Have you met him?” Coulson questioned, as of the four kids, bubbly Jemma was his favorite as she was trouble free, up until now, and ate all her vegetables.  While Ward did also, his surliness meant points were deducted. FREQUENTLY. “Any of you?”

Oh shit, they weren’t looking at him. They were looking at Skye, as though it was ALL HER FAULT.

“She noticed the drones,” Fitz admitted. “I just got a fuzzy picture of a man with greying hair.”

“No,” Skye admitted. “But she’s always glowing after they’re together.”

“Glowing?” Coulson asked.

Unnoticed by all, Melinda May kicked Phil in the shins.  When he looked at her, to gauge this latest betrayal, she blinked at him. Fluent in May-ese, Phil knew that it meant ‘Drop it’.

“Very well, give her some privacy, but not too much. Don’t leave her alone,” Phil ordered as he walked away.

* * *

 

“You knew Simmons was dating,” Phil protested to a silent May. “You didn’t tell me.”

Melinda May’s eye roll was so pronounced, it was amazing that her eyeballs didn’t fall out of her head and roll about on the floor. Really, he had been the victim of a Melinda-Roll of epic proportions.

“I am worried that he’s not treating her like she deserves,” he finally stated, as he needed to say something.  “She’s very intelligent but I don’t think she has a great deal of real life experience.”

“She floats when she walks,” Melinda May stated, which earned her a Coulson’s arched eyebrow. “After every furlough, she **_floats_** when she returns to the bus. When we arrive in the New York area, she’s always the first off the Bus.”

“So, good experiences,” Phil decided.

“No, not **_good_** experiences,” Melinda murmured, as really the rare chance to razz Phil Coulson was too good to allow it to pass unscathed. “Mind blowing, earth shattering experiences.”

“Not listening,” Phil primly announced. “Not listening at all.”

* * *

 

“Hey,” Felix stated when he answered his phone. He kept his voice warm and affectionate, plus he turned away from Victoria Hand to try to have some sort of privacy. “Wasn’t anticipating that I’d hear from you.”

Jemma made a weak laugh. The heartbreaking sound was a far cry from Jemma’s normally bubbly manner.

“You ok? You sound like you’re coming down with a cold,” Felix offered.

“Last party was a little rough,” Jemma admitted. “Heading off to the doctors as I’m not feeling very well.”

“Well, if you can get back to the States soon, you can stay at my place while you recover,” he offered. Through years of practices, years of lying, he kept his voice composed because he knew that unless a miracle occurred and Simmons’ overclocked brain figured out a solution….  He swallowed once, twice, before he could speak again. “I’ll take good care of you. You can rest and recover your strength.”

Long pause on the phone, and then Jemma spoke, “I’m really glad I met you. It’s been absolutely amazing.”

“And it will continue to be so,” he offered. “You just come back to the States, and I’ll take really care of you. Promise.”

“Goodbye,” was her final words to him. He didn’t even get a chance to answer. The phone connection dropped with a sudden burst of static and then silence.

“I’m calling him to find out what’s happening,” Blake informed Hand. “If he doesn’t take my call, I’ll use Ward. Not May, as she’s always been loyal to **_him_**.”


	9. 9

Jemma spoke to Felix, “I’m really glad I met you. It’s been absolutely amazing.”

Her voice quivered as she wiped a tear from her eye.

“And it will continue to be so,” Felix softly offered. “You just come back to the States, and I’ll take really good care of you. Promise.”

“Goodbye,” was her final words to him. He didn’t even get a chance to answer her because her body betrayed her. The phone connection dropped with a sudden burst of static as an unexpected electrical charge caused the delicate electronics to fry.  She inhaled and exhaled slowly, wiling herself to calm down. She needed to be calm and most importantly, she needed to be unafraid if she needed to act.

She had thirty minutes before she emitted an electrical current that would bring the plane down into the Atlantic Ocean, so it was time to pull herself together and create the antiserum. If she was unsuccessful in her attempt, hopefully Felix had understood what she had tried to tell him.

* * *

It was Felix on the video screen. Melinda May watched him, outwardly impassive, inwardly unhappy that it was her ex-husband Felix Blake. He didn’t bother to mouth insincere pleasantries, instead he got straight to the point. “Agent Coulson, please. If he’s unavailable, Agent Ward will do.”

It was a major violation of protocol, for Blake to go around Coulson’s second in command to talk to Ward. However, it was also a personal slight, as her ex-husband was stating, ‘I know to whom your loyalties belong.’  A lifetime ago, Felix Blake had possessed an easy laugh, a disregard for rules that prevented him from helping the deserving and a self-deprecating grin. Their courtship had been whirlwind, he had been head over heels for her, and she… she **_uncertain_** … yet **_flattered_** , had gone along with it.  Until the day when he had handed her the divorce papers with a curt, “I refused to be married for even one more day to a woman who loves another man.”

Her mother had taken the news of her divorce with her usual support.

**_He was too good for you anyway. He reminded me of your father._ **

Felix had turned inward after the divorce.  More by the book, more unforgiving…  His normal humor darker, with more of a poisonous barb to his quips. And to her deep regret, far less likely to bend the rules for the greater good.

“Let me locate Coulson,” she stated.

“Yes, I forgot. Those mobile command unit don’t have a paging system. Five minutes, May.” His tone was flat, ‘have you forgotten exactly who you are trying to fuck over **_again_** , Melinda?’.

“There’s a short in the system,” she lied.

He nodded his head, once, a dismissal of her life, and her lies and they both knew it.

* * *

 

When the moment of no return came for Jemma Simmons, when the realization that she had to act quickly or kill her team, Jemma Simmons was Bold. She was Determined. She was bloody scared out of her mind.  She clocked Fitz with the fire extinguisher, opened the cargo bay and fell into the deep blue sky even while Fitz screamed and screamed.

She could hear his screams, as all she heard was her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

* * *

 

Blake who was obsessing over the Bus’ monitors, noticed when the cargo hold opened; when there was one less living person on the bus and he understood what it meant. He swallowed once, twice, three times, grateful that there was no one to see him compose himself.

**_Hey, God, it’s me; Felix.  Look I know we haven’t talked since my mother died, but if you could, please make it quick for Jemma. Don’t let her be awake for the full descent. Please. Hopefully she shot herself full of sedatives so she’s not terrified. Let it be quick, let it be fast._ **

Coulson then appeared on the screen. “The infected cargo has left the Bus.”

He stated it bluntly, uncaring, little realizing how Felix Blake would receive the devastating news. Then again, Phil had never really given a damn about Felix’s feelings (see Melinda May) as he was a self-absorbed prick. The two of worked together, and worked together well, but they didn’t bother to hide the fact that they each detested the other one.

“I’m glad you decided to follow orders,” Blake lied.                 

“Dr. Simmons made the decision,” Coulson stated. His voice was cold, and emotionless.

“Correction. I’m glad Dr. Simmons followed orders. I’ll be sure to put a commendation in her personnel file.”

 ** _Click_**. He disconnected the video before Coulson could voice some sort of noble protest or mock the futility of Felix’s actions. Felix sat down in his chair as he wished to compose himself before he spoke to Victoria Hand regarding recent events. He couldn’t handle her rough attempts at sympathy right now.

* * *

 

She was falling, _falling_ , **_falling_**. It was funny what thoughts went through one’s mind when one had jumped out of an airplane sans shoot.  First, was a scientist’s appreciation of the shortfalls in Newton’s Laws of Motion? An object in motion (in this case Jemma) stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.  However, Galileo had proven that force was inversely proportional to the distance between the objects squared. Either way, the ocean was coming up at an alarming speed. Since there was no one to witness, except for herself, she permitted herself to voice her terror.

Death was not the next great adventure, JK Rowling be damned.  There was so much more she wished to experience in her life. Yes, she screamed like an absolute loon as she was beyond terrified and regretting all that she’d never experience.

Unexpectedly, while she was twirling like a top, Grant Ward arrived in a chute (Where had he appeared from?), injected her with the antiserum, and then embraced her so that the chute showed both their descent. It was all well and good until she emitted another electrostatic current and lost consciousness.

* * *

 

Blake had quickly compartmentalized his grief (poor, sweet Jemma, her sweet smile, her horrible attempts at being flirtatious, her death due to Coulson’s stupidity) so that he was still able to function like the dutiful minion he was. He reached out to the Moroccan office and contact their lead.

“Zakaria, I need you to put boats in the water for a recovery mission please,” he requested. “It’s a long story. There’s a female agent’s body in the water at approximately 34° 00 N and 12° 00 W. Treat the body as though it’s contagious, include electrostatic protection and bring it to the Sand Box.  Any agent that experiences an electrostatic shock will need to be quarantined immediately.”

Zakaria narrowed his dark eyes even while he nodded his head in understanding. “That bad, my dear friend?”

Good old Zak, he never asked useless questions until after the mission was completed. E.g. why was there an agent in the water?

“Worse than that. Be careful. We can’t risk leaving the body in the water,” Blake stated. “I’m on my way to the Sandbox. I’m in Madrid so I should be there within the hour or so. You may hear from Agent Coulson regarding this matter as he’s seemingly not dead anymore, plus it’s his agent who is need of recovery. Don’t let him know that I requested your assistance.  Leave my name out of it.”

Zakaria nodded his head once.

“You’re in luck. Training exercises has two boats out in the water already. They should get in that location in maybe fifteen minutes or so. I’ll take a chopper out there so I can oversee her retrieval. Is she… Muslim?” Zakaria asked.

“No. However I would take as a personal kindness if… you would… treat the body…,” Blake’s voice broke and he turned away from the monitor. “If your staff would… treat…her with... compassion. However, they must take precautions with the body.”

“I will ask my second and her assistants if they would be kind enough to give Ghusl and the Kafan given the uniqueness of this situation. It is unusual but they are Sisters of the S.H.I.E.L.D., I believe He will understand,” Zakaria decided. “I will oversee this agent’s recovery personally, Agent Blake.”

Felix placed his right hand on his chest and stated a very heartfelt, “Baaraka Allahu fik.”

**_God bless you._ **

* * *

 

Grant Ward and Jemma Simmons hit the Atlantic Ocean with a less than controlled descent. The impact wasn’t as fast or as hard as it could have been, but it was still sufficient enough to cause both of them to briefly submerge. Ward struggled to pull Jemma to the surface until she began to weakly kick her way towards the surface.

He disconnected the parachute even while Jemma coughed up half the ocean.

“The vaccine worked as the rat is alive,” Ward explained. “Now we just need to tread water as we’re a few miles off the coast. I’m sure Coulson already has worked out how to rescue us.”

Jemma nodded, and began to kick.

* * *

 

Phil Coulson had never before spoken with Zakaria Abdūl-Nūr of the Moroccan Office.  He was a legend among the field agents misfortunate enough to deal with him and his office. Zak was impossible to speak with directly, unless you were level 9 or above, so Phil ran up and down the various inferiors until he at last reached someone who would answer him. He explained the issue for the ninth time.

“Abdūl-Nūr is not in the office at the moment. He is overseeing the recovery of your agent at the moment,” the agent informed Phil. “I will inform him that in your opinion the electrostatic precautions are unnecessary.”

“It’s actually not a recovery, it’s actually a **_rescue_** of two of my agents,” Phil informed the lackey. “He’s already aware that I had an agent in the water?”

“Yes,” the taciturn agent stated.

Which meant he wouldn’t get any further information on who had gotten involved. However, he’d bet a cup of coffee that Felix Blake was involved, somehow.

“Please keep me informed,” Phil instructed.

* * *

 

She was freezing, her body wracked with shivers and her kicks were no longer as energetic as they once had been.   Between the Chitauri virus and the cold Atlantic Ocean water, an exhausted Jemma was on her final dredges. Grant Ward had jury-rigged some sort of harness so he was assisting in keeping her face above water but she was tiring.

“Hey, I hear a chopper,” Ward informed her. “Keep your head out of the water.”

She nodded and struggled to keep her mouth and nose out of the water.  She was so tired, and it would be easy just to close her eyes and…

The chopper came closer and closer until it hovered near them.  The side door opened and two people jumped into the water.  Fortunately, the water was calm, so it was only a few minutes before the newcomers were treading water next to them.

“Agent Simmons? Agent Ward?” the female asked even as she expertly attached the rescue harness to Jemma Simmons.  Her male counterpart was also assisting Grant Ward with his gear.

“Who else could it be?” Jemma asked before she started coughing. “Do you have many agents in the water at this time of year?”

“I am Agent Toma. I have been sent to rescue both of you, in particular, you,” she explained.  “Hold on.”      

Jemma closed her eyes as she was hoisted into the air and into the helicopter. After she was guided into the helicopter, she was immediately wrapped in several warm blankets.  She was still shivering when someone spoke.

“Salom, I am Zakaria Abdūl-Nūr. I am the head of the Moroccan office. You are safe now,” he assured her in his pleasantly accented English. “You had many people worried about you, Agent Simmons, so I am delighted that I can re-assure them. I will inform them. Do not worry we will get your team member out of the water, but for now, you are safe.”

She had enough strength to nod her head and whisper, “Shokran”.

_Thank you._

* * *

 

Felix Blake received a text with truly unexpected information.

**_Salam, my dear friend. She is alive and rather wet currently.  Once we have landed, she will be sent to Medical for a full exam._ **

Felix texted back, “Baaraka Allahu fik.”

* * *

 

Grant Ward being a perfect specimen of humanity, was none the worst for his brief submersion into the Atlantic. Jemma Simmons, on the other hand, was in less than perfect condition after having endured the Chitauri virus and unplanned dunk in the ocean.

She had a bit of a cough, but her chest x-ray was clear. No fever, no nasal discharge, but she was tired. She assured the Moroccan medics that she would behave and rest, and she did. She returned back to her sleeping pod after her first official dressing down from Coulson, crawled into bed and was sound asleep when Felix Blake stepped on the Bus.

Blake had been fearful that Jemma Simmons might be in the cargo hold, but his Moroccan contacts had promised him that Jemma should be asleep in her pod as she was completely exhausted after recent events.  Fortunately, they were right, as it was just Coulson and his cock of the walk strut, his red Corvette and the Box. No doubt Melinda May was hiding in the rafters to protect poor innocent Coulson.

“Blake,” was his brusque greeting from Coulson even as Blake’s Lackeys took Typhoid Mary’s helmet away to be boxed. Hopefully this time, they’d put the damn thing on the missile per the company policy, instead of keeping it for research.

“Coulson.”  Blake paused before dryly adding, “That's the best you could come up with, ‘you got a bad connection’?”

Coulson had the grace to actually look embarrassed, “I was pressed for time.”

“Bold move,” Felix stated. He then added, “You know our chat wasn't exactly private.”

“They never are,” Coulson admitted.

“I don't know what happened to you in New York, if you really flat lined or that's just what they tell when we reach level 7. But whatever did happen doesn't give you license to disobey a direct order from HQ.  You keep pulling stunts like that, someone might decide to take this little dream team away from you.”

Yes, and Blake prayed that it would be sooner rather than too late for Jemma Simmons.

“I'd like to see them try.”

“That doesn't sound like the Phil Coulson I used to know.”

“No, I suppose it doesn't.  Get used to it.”

Really, he wasn’t about to let Phil Coulson win their pissing contest, as Felix admitted he was by far the bigger dick, so he placed one finger on Coulson’s midlife crisis, the red Corvette, and ran his finger down the exterior. That done, he turned to face a fuming Coulson.

And Felix Blake smiled.

**_I touched her, what ya gonna do, Coulson?_ **

* * *

 

Jemma rested as she was ordered to do so. She was a nice girl, and liked following orders plus she was too horribly fatigued to protest. However, there was a tickle in her throat that wouldn’t leave that soon progressed to a barking seal cough.  With a rattle. With phlegm and a high fever. Dutifully, she quarantined herself, even though she believed it was a case of pneumonia brought on by her dip in the Atlantic and her weakened immune system.

Her team watched anxiously as she was zoot suited and brought into the SHIELD hospital. She undertook numerous exams, and the results were… pneumonia. Not a relapse of the Chitauri virus, but still she would need to be quarantined until the pneumonia had run its course.

Skye was watching Jemma through the windows of her room.  The biochemist was sleeping soundly, fortunately. There was a sound behind her and Skye turned to face Fitz.

“Hey, she’s sleeping,” Skye stated. “According to Nurse Crotchedly, she’s doing well.”

He nodded. His concern for Jemma readily apparent to Skye.

“I wonder if Michael’s disappointed that he hasn’t heard from her,” Skye wondered.  “He might even decide that she’s broken off the relationship.”

“No, no, no, what nefarious ideas are you thinking?” Fitz stated.

“I have Michael’s phone number. I could call him and let him know… that’s she’s sick.”

That’s what a friend would do.  Especially a friend who was curious about her friend’s boyfriend.

“Do tell how you will explain to him that she’s in a hospital where one needs top secret clearance to get into the door. He’s based locally, so he might want to stop by and visit,” protested Fitz.

“He travels a great deal for his job. He might not be in the area.”  Really, what were the odds of that, Skye realized?

“I don’t think we should risk it,” Fitz decided.

Naturally, Skye decided to ignore Fitz. He was male, after all, and there was the slightest bit of jealousy in his behavior.   She called and left a message on Michael’s cell phone, requesting a call back.

* * *

 

Felix noticed that there was a message on his cell phone. It was a restricted number so he waited until he was home to listen to it.

“Hey, Michael. You don’t know me, but my name is Skye. I’m friends with Jemma. Could you call me please?” was a female voice. “Call me at this number?”

The **_hacker_** was calling **_him_**? Odd, but then again, Jemma didn’t realize that he was keeping an eye on her thanks to him being the Bus Monitor.  Maybe Coulson’s latest project was calling him to let him know that Jemma was in the hospital. It wasn’t though he could visit Jemma, as even though he wished to do so, it would blow this cover.  However, he did wish to send her flowers, so… perhaps he could play this to his advantage. He made up a brief story, keeping it simple with the ring of truth, and called back the hacktivist.

“Hello, this is Michael,” he stated, complete with a Russian accent. If Skye was recording his voice, the Russian accent would play havoc with most identity programs.  “Is Jemma alright? I haven’t heard from her in some time.”

“Oh **_great_** , you called me back. Michael, I wasn’t sure if you would, so I am glad you did. I wanted to inform you that Jemma has a slight case of pneumonia, so she’s in the hospital. That’s why she hasn’t called you. I borrowed her phone today and saw your number, so… that’s why I have it. She’s really not up to calling anyone.”

“Is she alright?” Blake asked.

“Tired, fatigued, coughing up a lung,” Skye stated.

“I’m in San Fran,” Blake lied. “Got sent to the West Coast office, and I won’t be back for a week or so.  Hmmm…  I want to send her flowers, but I worry about sending them to the hospital as they might get misdelivered or forgotten. If I order something from a local florist, can you deliver it for me?”

“Absolutely,” Skye bubbled. Her relief at not having to give him Jemma’s location was palpable. She was a **_horrible_** spy.  No wonder she and Jemma were besties.

“Is she in DC?” he asked. “What neighborhood is the hospital in?”

“Yes. Near Georgetown, but I’m not familiar with the boundaries. I’m not a native.”

“Let me order something and I will call you back in few minutes with the information. Thank you for calling me, I was worried that she had decided to end it.”

“No, no, no. You’ve made her very happy,” admitted Skye. “That’s why I wanted to call, so you didn’t think that she had decided to give you the silent treatment.”

Well, maybe she had, as she hadn’t called him to let him know that she was hospitalized, but he did have a tendency of overthinking everything.

Felix Blake called a florist, decided on a quirky display of flowers (if his cover was blown, Coulson and May would never believe him capable of sending a Dr. Chicken flower display, what with a chicken soup mug, and a big Mylar Dr. Chicken balloon. Felix Blake did have a decent sense of humor but there were only few that were worthy of it) and add a small box of chocolate covered strawberries for Skye as a thank you for delivering the flowers.

**_J - Sorry to hear you’re sick. If you need a place to recuperate after you make your hospital escape, you can stay with me until you’re back on your feet. I make a mean veggie soup._ **

Then after a long mental debate, he added:

**_Love;_ **

**_Me_ **

* * *

 

Jemma woke to a serious bout of coughing. Her lungs hurt, her chest hurt and she felt horrible.  However, Skye was in her room, which meant the quarantine had been lifted.  Or she had hacked the system, which was far more likely. There was also a new display of flowers that were next to the arrangements that she had gotten from her team. (Plus a stuffed monkey, courtesy of Fitz). The flowers were bright, and cheerful, and attached to them was a large chicken head balloon.

And she had no idea who could have sent it.

The display of orchids had been from May, the mixture of butterfly asters, mini carnations, alstroemeria and daisy poms had been from Coulson, the hack on her Kindle that had permitted her unlimited access to every porny ebook in history had been Skye (And truthfully, she hadn’t the energy to even look at it) and Ward had sent her a basket of real English tea (no doubt picked up by Skye).

Skye brightened up when she saw that Jemma was awake, and then she looked nervous. Not a good sign.

“Who sent the giant chicken head balloon?” Jemma whispered.

“Uhm… I hope you’re not mad.  I contacted Michael and let him know that you were in the hospital. He’s in San Fran right now so he wanted to send flowers. He asked me to pick them up from the florists and hand deliver them as he didn’t want them getting lost.”

“You could use that balloon as a beacon,” protested Jemma.

“He was really worried when he heard you were in the hospital and he was quite glad that I had called him. Here’s the card, I didn’t open it, though I was tempted.”

Skye bounced slightly and handed the card to her. Jemma opened it, read it and smiled.  Then much to Skye’s disappointment, she held onto the card.

“If you’re up to it, the team wants to say goodbye as we’re heading out.  Docs says once you get out of the hospital, you’ll need a few weeks to recuperate, so keep in touch, ok?” Skye pleaded. “Michael sounds really hot. Deeply rumbly voice combined with the Russian accent. When do I get to meet him?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.  

The team barged in then, and the conversation was dropped.  Coulson still seemed a little put off by the fact that she had a boyfriend, who had sent flowers to a top secret medical clinic, but noticeably relaxed once Skye told the story of how she had delivered the flowers.  The team said their goodbyes and Jemma was delighted when they left. She was rather knackered truth be told and they seemed to be digging for information on her mysterious boyfriend who had a good sense of humor.

“ ** _Love_** , me,” she quoted as she drifted off to sleep. For the first time in far too long she didn’t dreaming of falling from a great height.

* * *

 

When she was discharged from the hospital, it took all of her energy to perform the necessary subterfuge so Felix could pick her up at her ‘discharge’. She was sitting on a bench outside Georgetown Hospital, when Felix appeared. He was wearing sunglasses, and a hat pulled low over his head.

“You should be inside,” he protested as he assisted her to his car. “Do you want a relapse?”

“I just couldn’t take another moment inside a hospital.” It was the truth but she didn’t say which hospital. “Did you get a new car?”

“No, mine’s in the shop, so I borrowed this,” he explained. “I took the next two days off from work, just in case you need anything.”

“I just need sleep,” she demurred.  “Plus your vegetable soup. You didn’t need to take time off from work.”

“I didn’t **_need_** , I **_wanted_**. You just rest as much as you need,” Felix requested. Then after a slight hesitation, “I’m glad Skye called me to let me know that you were ailing. I know you were too ill to contact me, but I was worried.”

“She said that you sounded Russian,” Jemma teased.

“I was dealing with my Russian counterparts when she called. I find that slipping in my father’s accent is helpful when working with them, but it takes a while for me to break out of it,” he explained in accented English. “You need to change your mindset.”

* * *

 

“There,” Felix informed her with a flourish as they entered his bedroom. The bed was neatly made and her side of the bed had been turned down.  It looked cozy and inviting. “Turn down service. No chocolate on your pillow, I’m afraid.”

Gratefully, Jemma Simmons collapsed into the bed.  She was asleep before he finished tucking her into bed.

 


	10. 10

When Jemma woke, there was a soft murmur and a rather loud… purr.  “Pgrowl?” was her breathy greeting when she opened her eyes to look into the green eyes of Fyodor.  The Russian Blue Cat kneaded the blanket next to her, and Jemma held out her hand. He sniffed and then leaned towards her so she could stroke his silvery fur.

“Hello, handsome,” she whispered.

The cat murmured and then chirped his appreciation.

“Should I be jealous?” Felix asked as he put down the book he was reading. He was in a recliner next to the bed and he closed the book with a soft thud and a very fond smile. Fyodor murmured in response and it sounded like “Yes.”

“He does have **_whiskers_** ,” admitted Jemma.  “Soft whiskers. They don’t give me rug burn, unlike someone else in the room.”

Felix loudly exhaled his mock hurt as he rubbed his stubbled face.

“He has a very cute tail.” And for added snark, she added, “Plus his little black nose.”

Blake laughed and then touched her forehead. “No fever, that’s good. You slept most of yesterday and I was worried as you were a little feverish. What are your plans for today? Marathon? Swimming the Upper New York Bay?”

“I think both are doable, plus a quick bike ride around Central Park,” she retorted.

His expressive face made her giggle.

“Very well, I think I could possibly manage a walk to the living room,” she admitted. “They tell me the malaise is normal, but I feel completely wiped.”

“How about the kitchen, and I could make waffles?” He traded.

She sat up, ran her hand through her hair and then stretched. She caught sight of Blake’s zippered hoodie, so she spontaneously decided to wear it. “ ** _Mine_**.”

“It’s a little big,” he teased even as she pulled it over her head.

“It’s warm. It smells like your cologne, so **_MINE_**.”

* * *

 

“It will take time for you to regain your strength,” Felix reminded her as she gracelessly wilted after breakfast.

“I’m so sorry, we don’t get a great deal of time together, and the last few times I’ve not been in tip top shape,” Jemma tiredly protested as he assisted her to the couch.

Skye had decided that every time they were in ‘port’, she’d buy Jemma a naughty magazine. **_Cosmo. Redbook.  Playgirl._** Faithful reader Jemma read them voraciously, even though she always felt a trifle sad afterwards. They all promoted the idea of plenty of hot sex as the cornerstone to a relationship.  While the sex with Blake was blistering, they didn’t get very many moments together and she sometimes wondered why he seemed content with it.  He wasn’t seeing anyone else, he just seemed…. comfortable…  Always delighted to see her, but… still far too understanding about her frequent long silences and her strange schedule.

Almost like he was relieved by the very irregularity, the very unpredictability of it.  He didn’t thrive on it, because he always seemed elatedly surprised when she appeared at his door, as though disbelieving that she was there, but … something was odd.

“It’s ok,” a far too understanding Felix assured her as she made herself comfortable on the couch.  “You just rest. I’ll do the dishes, and then I’ll be back.”

He put a pillow under her head, lifted her feet up and then covered her with a throw once she was asleep.

* * *

 

She woke abruptly when she heard Felix’s phone ring.  Her head hurt… in the rude awakening type way, not the headache of the Chitauri Flu, and the taste of her mouth was distinctively unkissable.

“Blake,” he answered. Long pause. “I know you wouldn’t call me on my day off unless it was pretty bad. Stop apologizing, alright?  What’s happening?”

Long period of silence except for a whispered, “Oh shit.”

Another long pause.

“I can leave here in ten minutes. You’re getting me in casual Friday gear even though it’s Tuesday morning. I don’t have time to grab a suit, color coordinate my tie and press a shirt.”

Long pause.

“See you in an hour.”

He slowly exhaled.

“Time to make the doughnuts,” he stated. “Jemma, I’ve been called into work and I’m not sure when I’ll be back as it’s a seven alarm cluster fuck involving an old friend. I’m sorry. Would you mind feeding Fyodor while I’m away? His box is clean so you don’t have to deal with that. If you get called into work, just text me and just leave him a big bowl of dry food and copious amounts of clean water.  Don’t let him cajole you into too many treats. He won’t starve if you don’t give him a bag of those fish flakes he loves. ”

She sat up and stretched.  Felix had his back to her as he was opening a small safe.  He pulled out two loaded gun holsters and began to attach them with an experienced ease. She realized anew that he was left handed based on where he placed his guns.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Jemma began.

“You weren’t,” he stated. “I didn’t leave the room and I knew you’d overhear. Just made it quicker for me to leave as I didn’t have to explain that I got called into work. It’s pretty bad, so I need to go now. Here’s a spare set of keys to my apartment, so you’re not trapped here. You can have whatever you can find the fridge and freezer.”

“Any varenyky?” She asked.

“The freezer is full, naturally,” he assured her. He leaned down and kissed her.  Naturally, she melted against him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered when they broke apart.  “You know how it is, job calls, I answer. The list of places that deliver is in a binder by the toaster.”

“Any idea when you might be back?” she asked.

“No.”

* * *

 

He took his motorcycle which enabled him to beat the DC traffic, and earned him several one finger salutes from various automobiles stuck and going nowhere fast. Breaking his personal bests, he managed to be in the ‘Wanding Station’ of the HUB within thirty minutes of the phone call. His personal armament earned him an arched eyebrow of disapproval from the Guard who Wanded him, but his clearance level permitted him to pack, so he did.

“Sorry to interrupt one on one time with your girlfriend,” Vic murmured as she met him postWanded.  He lengthened his stride, but only slightly, to match her ground eating pace. Thank God, he was tall and had long legs, as he had witnessed Jasper Sitwell jogging behind Hand on more than one occasion. “And don’t protest that she’s not your girlfriend. It’s far more than a booty call. Refusing to acknowledge that is rather demeaning for the person involved.”

“Agreed. I just don’t see her enough to call her my girlfriend,” protested Felix.  “Besides, makes me feel like I’m back in grade school.”

Vic snorted a very unladylike snort.

“Try that shit on someone that doesn’t know you as well as I do. By the way, two guns and a knife, Felix?”

“What you called me in for made me… feel the need for diligence. And I noticed that you’ve got your Sig on. The knife has sentimental attachment, Izzie gave it to me when I stood up for you two.”

“I set up the room for you. You’ve got coffee ready and I’ve turned on the air filters so you can smoke without setting off the alarms. I’ll provide lunch, dinner, whatever you need. You just let me know, as my gut instinct says that Shaw’s in trouble in Siberia. I’ve also reassigned Claire elsewhere so you can focus.”

He nodded, even as he mentally flipped the switch in his head to speak his mother tongue. He couldn’t afford to miss a single nuance. Not when Charlie needed help.

* * *

 

It felt odd at first, being alone (Sorry, Fyodor!) in Felix’s apartment. It wasn’t hotel-like but it still wasn’t home, so her first solo sleep was uneasy as she woke at the slightest noise.  Fortunately, the cat was low maintenance, as her energy level was still quite non-existent especially after her sleepless nights.  A thorough brushing left Fyodor purring happily and Jemma absolutely knackered. Suddenly, it was merely enough to eat and sleep. When she felt a burst of energy, she’d take a brief stroll on Felix’s treadmill… only ¾ of a mile, not her usual run in the morning! Colllapse in exhaustion and sleep a few hours, wake, check her emails, repeat ad naseum.

She had just finished taking a shower when her phone rang. Since it was Skye, she decided to answer.

“Hi! I’m not interrupting any serious fagging am I?” Skye asked.

Huh? Sometimes Skye’s use of British Slang seemed to be limited to bootleg Harry Potter movies.

“Fagging? Do you mean **_shagging_**?”

In the background, she heard Fitz explain, “Shagging is sex. Fag is a cigarette. Fagging means a younger person doing a senior person’s chores.”

“Whatever, how’s the sex?” Skye asked.

“He got called into work and I haven’t seen him since Tuesday morning.”

“It’s almost Thursday evening,” protested Skye.

“I know, but … I can’t say anything. However, why are you calling?”  Jemma asked  

“New assignment.  We’re landing at the HUB tomorrow at 0500.  New assignment, so AC wants to know if you were well enough to return?”

“I’ll need to get medically cleared, so I’ll make an appointment. However, I’ll will see you tomorrow no matter what.”

* * *

 

Felix Blake was bleary eyed, strung out on caffeine and mentally the consistency of a McDonald’s French Fry that had been floating, neglected, in the vat for a week or so. Yes, burnt to a crisp. He reviewed the details of his analysis one last time with Victoria Hand (Shaw needed to get out Siberia STAT) and then he was dismissed.

“Is she still at your place?” Vic asked.

“No idea,” he admitted as he slumped into his chair. “Never called, didn’t want to find out that she decided on a hotel. Christ, I’m beat. I think I better call a taxi.”

“No, Izzie will drop you off at your place.  She’ll meet you at Exit B. Take tomorrow off as you’ve earned it.”

“Need to rerun the data again, see what changes have happened. I owe Shaw that,” an exhausted Blake protested.

“Her team is being assigned to retrieve Shaw, so she’ll be here tomorrow,” Vic warned him.

“I’ll get here before the crack of dawn and won’t leave it until after she leaves the Hub.”

* * *

 

Fortunately Izzie was prompt, so she met him at Exit B.

“Shit, you look rough,” she cheerfully teased him.

“Thanks for the ride. I’m just too exhausted to think straight, let alone drive my bike home,” he admitted.  As he put on his seatbelt, he noticed something in the backseat. “Flowers? From Vic? Is she getting soft?”

“Well, yes, but no.  She asked me to pick them up for you so you can give them to Jemma.”

He didn’t have the energy to pretend annoyance. Tomorrow, he’d tell Vic to stay the fuck out of his personal life.  Today, he’d just try not to fall asleep in the car.  Sometimes, being fifty really sucked as he used to be able to pull a series of allnighters without being this physically compromised.

“I like her,” Izzie informed him. “She’s good for you, so… hopefully this will smooth everything over.”

* * *

 

Jemma had just finished vacuuming his apartment, when she realized that Felix was there, watching her.  He looked exhausted and beaten, as his eyes were blood shot and his shoulders were slumped. In his left hand, there was a small bouquet of flowers.

“You’re here?” he quietly asked. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Then you bought the flowers for Fyodor?” she teased. “How long were you here, watching me vacuum?”

His smile was a tired grimace as he handed them to her.  “Long enough to put my guns back in the safe. You need to be more aware of your surroundings.”

“Go to the bedroom,” she ordered. “I’ll put these in water and then I’ll put you to bed. Felix…. I have to leave tomorrow.”

He nodded his head.

“I understand,” he admitted. “You look well-rested at least.”

“I am,” she purred. “However, you look exhausted, so I think I’ll help you fall asleep. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be completely and utterly exhausted. It’s time for me to take care of you.”

 


	11. 11

A confused Jemma found Felix Blake, not in bed, eagerly awaiting her passionate ministrations, but in his bathroom. He was freshly showered and he was taking out his shaving kit. However, he wore only a towel wrapped around his waist, so it was a quasi-win.

“You’re shaving?” she asked.

“Someone doesn’t like my whiskers, as it gives her rug burn. Figured I should shave.”

“You’re exhausted, Felix. You’re planning on using a straight edge?” She asked. “Aren’t you afraid that you’ll lose an ear?”

He rubbed his face. “Rug burn,” he reminded her.

“I’ll take the risk,” she informed him as she grabbed him by his wrist. With what she hoped was a seductive glance, she demanded, “Come to bed.”

Felix Blake was immotile.  She pulled and sighed.

“You are **_ruining_** your seduction,” she snapped.  For added incentive, she glared at him with her fiercest scowl. With her luck, he’d laugh at her, because he had once compared her fierceness to a wet, pissed off Koala Bear.

This time her look of disapproval worked better than she dared hope. She was swept off her feet and carried to the bed.

“ ** _Coming_**!” he informed her.

“Not **_yet_** ,” she giggled a weak protest, even as he placed her on the bed.

* * *

 

“Lie prone,” she ordered even as she finished preparing the room with soft music. The lights were lowered and it looked warm and inviting. Very cozy and seductive, she approvingly believed.

He looked at her in askance before he flashed a very dirty smile. “This is a very obscure sexual position that I haven’t tried before. Are you taking advantage of me in my compromised condition?”

“Lie prone,” she repeated. “It’s a back rub. I want to take care of you tonight.”

“I’ll probably fall asleep,” he protested.

“Your alarm is set for five thirty,” she reminded him. “You’ll wake then.”

“Will you still be here?” he asked as he relaxed… collapsed… face forward into his pillows.

“No, I’ll have to leave by five to catch my flight. Budge up I don’t want you to suffocate.”

He moved enough to prevent his suffocation.

“I’ll get up and make breakfast,” he offered as she put a rolled towel under his forehead. “I think I have eggs and milk. Do you know if I have bread?”

“I did some shopping today, so they’re all in the refrigerator. There, you should be able to breathe now,” Jemma announced after ignoring his kind offer.  

“Let me set the alarm for earlier,” Felix stated as he moved towards the alarm clock. She gave him a good swat on his arse and he yelped in what she prayed was pretend pain. “Hey! I’m not a masochist! I’m not into that.”

“Enough talking,” she commanded as she began to massage his temples. Like she anticipated, he was deeply asleep before she finished massaging his shoulders. She leaned over him and kissed the back of his neck.  “Get some sleep.”

She continued to massage him even while he slept. When she stopped as her hands were close to cramping, she rolled on her side to watch Felix sleep. She pondered deep thoughts and she finalized a solution for the contradiction that was Felix Blake.

His understanding about her crazy schedule and his lack of prying regarding her job as a party planner.  (Really, she needed a better cover story). The lack of personal details in his home; at most there were a few pictures of his family. He didn’t even get mail at his apartment, no, it was sent to a PO Box. His military background as exemplified by his perfectly made bed with hospital corners. His analytic nature plus his familiarity with guns. His bookshelves full of books on national security, infrastructure protection and counter-terrorism.

CIA or FBI. Perhaps one of the countless people that helped run the National Security Council.

Definitely not KGB.

Please not SHIELD as he’d probably be a Sixer or higher.  Probably a Field Officer, like Coulson, or worse yet, a department head.

She have to check, but carefully. She couldn’t ask Skye, May or Coulson. Certainly not Ward, so she’d have to be circumspect.

Though that pool cue stick defense… that was something Coulson would have done, her nagging subconscious reminded her.

* * *

 

He woke after a two hour nap, so it was only nine in the evening or so. Simmons was curled around him and her breathing pattern signified that she was awake.  (She had this cute little snore when she was deeply asleep).

Simmons who was hiding under the covers, who was feeling frisky as she kissed him in a rather intriguing spot.  Not that he was complaining, oh HELL NO, as he was a hot blooded male after all, but still he pulled the covers away from her face.

“Hey….” He whispered. “You told me…. you don’t do that…. You don’t have to do that…”

No response, well verbal, instead a rather noticeable increase in her efforts. Jemma may not have been the most skilled sexual partner he ever had been with, but she made up for it in her lascivious enthusiasm.

She was gonna kill him, he realized. Leave his shattered carcass out in the road, the carnal roadkill warning all fifty year old men that they should never ever date a much younger woman. But sweet mother of God, what a way to go.

The funeral director would never be able to remove the look of utter bliss off his face. Hopefully they’d have a closed casket because Victoria Hand wouldn’t be able to stop snarking.

* * *

 

Felix pulled the covers off her head and he gently assured her that she didn’t have to continue with what she was doing.  She ignored him, heard his breath hitch and then he placed a hand on her head. Not to hold her mouth in position, but instead to stroke her hair.  Gently, reassuringly…

Jemma focused on just teasing him, as she relished that Felix was completely under her sexual sway, until she realized that his free hand was now gripping the blanket, tightly.  Therefore she placed her hand on his, until he released the blanket and entwined his fingers with her.

“Jem…” Felix whispered. “I’m … close… so… close.”

She stopped long enough to quip, “Well, that’s what I’m aiming for….” and then returned to her endeavor with a renewed fervor.

Seriously, he hoped that he had recently updated his will, as Fyodor would require a new owner. 

* * *

 

The next morning, a blissed out Felix Blake returned to the HUB with a spring in his step plus two extra-large cups of coffee. Veronica Hand met him at his office, fortunately before Claire ran in at nine on the dot, and ruined his mood.

“I gave Coulson the intel on Shaw. He’s retrieving him now, with his team. Once he’s collected, they’ll download the information. It will be sent to your office and I need it analyzed immediately.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he answered which earned him a disapproving glare from Victoria Hand, all eight foot nine of her.

* * *

 

Charles Shaw appeared on his monitor.  The veteran SHIELD agent was now a red-head as part of his undercover persona, and his face was a thundercloud.

“Sending you the information as requested.” He then sniffled. “In one…. Sniff… two… sniff…. Three… sniff.”

“Charlie, you doing coke? You blow out your septum?” Felix asked as he confirmed the download. “Or is it ragweed season?”

“I stuck the intel capsule up my nose so they couldn’t get it.  FitzSimmons are sick bastards, Felix. The female half seemed absolutely delighted that she had to rotor router my nose to get it out,” Shaw explained as he sniffed again. “She’s crazy!”

Blake managed to externally keep his face impassive, however internally, he was chortling merrily (and yes, proudly) about Simmons. 

“Just be glad you didn’t put it in any other body orifice,” Felix snarked.

Shaw’s face blanched as he realized what Felix was saying.  “I’m not old enough to have experienced the joys of that particular exam, Felix. Glad to know that you survived yours.”

“Asshole,” snorted Felix. “We’ll go out for lunch when you’re in town. I’ll bring the antihistamines, Red.”

“HATE YOU!”

“Is that dye job permanent?”

“HATE YOU!” Roared Shaw.

* * *

 

The recovered Intel was as bad as Victoria Hand feared. A South Ossetian separatist group had built a weapon called the Overkill device, which utilized sonic vibrations to trigger other weapons from great distances. The separatists planned on utilizing the device within the next forty eight hours to help promote the cause by detonating weapons throughout the disputed terrorities. Felix thoroughly detailed his analysis to Victoria Hand and left it in her capable hands.

Later on, he was informed that Agent Ward and Fitz (FITZ??!?!?! FITZ??!?!!)  were out in the wilds of Southern Ossetia, unattended. Fitz?  Leo Fitz?  The man who failed his field exam eleven times? And John Garett’s puppet? Roaming unchaperoned in Southern Ossetia.

God help the world, as it was DOOMED.  Kiss your ass goodbye, kids.

Victoria Hand had a steely cored pragmatism that he admitted he lacked. It wasn’t that he was soft, it was that he knew too many of the Agents to send them off blindly to their deaths.  While in Hand’s eyes, SHIELD’s needs reigned supreme, and she’d get drunk at the funerals, like the rest of them.

With Coulson’s team, the majority of them, still at the HUB, he decided he needed to keep an eye on Simmons. Coulson and May could handle themselves, and the Hacker was Nanny braceleted so she couldn’t cause too much damage. How wrong he was.

* * *

He watched as Simmons was willingly led astray by the Hacker. He dutifully informed Hand, who authorized the Hacker to have sufficient access to the Ossetian mission. Naturally, it went to hell, as Simmons was involved. (He was detecting a pattern with her.)

Jasper Sitwell, agent of uncertain loyalty, the agent who had given him CLAIRE as an ASSISTANT, walked in as Jemma was trying to break into a restricted zone. “Agent Simmons?” he asked.

Felix heard the Hacker respond back to Simmons as he had highjacked their connection, plus the Hacker rated her own monitor. The Hacker offered surprisingly decent advice, but somehow Felix doubted it was the first time she had hacked into a Top Secret Agency. “It's fine. Just play it cool.”

Jemma smiled brightly, as she said, “Hello, Mr. Agent Sitwell, sir. May I help you?”

**_MR. AGENT SITWELL, SIR?_ **

Sitwell, the bastard, smirked a winning smile and leaned towards Jemma. In a very confiding tone, he suggested, “Call me Jasper.”

 ** _WAIT_**. Was Jasper Sitwell making a play on **_HIS GIRLFRIEND_**? And yes, JEMMA SIMMONS WAS NOW HIS GIRLFRIEND, OK? OK!

Jemma panicked, and stuttered, “Um, what brings you to this restricted hallway so late at night?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Jasper teased.

**_JASPER SITWELL WAS A DEAD MAN. A DEAD, BALD MAN._ **

Jemma, lousy liar that she was, pleaded, “Oh, no, don't.”

The Hacker suggested, “Simmons, focus. Just make up an excuse.”

Felix Blake knew that Jemma was panicking and that she couldn’t lie to save her life. The Hacker was a cyber-genius, but a lousy judge of character. Jemma utilized her best innocent voice and plaintively stated, “I was just on my way to the loo. I could swear it was two rights and a left, but is that it here?”

By now Jasper Sitwell had disengaged his dick (FINALLY) and was realizing that something was seriously amiss. (And everyone thought Jasper Sitwell was SHIELD’S best interrogator? Recent events were proving how wrong that claim was. Show him some pretty brown eyes and a sweet smile and he’d turn over the Nuclear Codes to the Russians.)

“That's a wall panel. Why are you accessing it?” Jasper demanded.

Skye added a very helpful, “Don't spiral. Just say something. Anything.”

No, no, no. BAD ADVICE, Hacker Girl. BAD ADVICE.  The Titanic was calling for you, Hacker Girl, as they were going down for the last time.

A desperate Jemma Simmons decided to flirt with Jasper. The cute little bit where she twirled her hair on her finger and struggled to act seductive. And failed miserably, which just made her even more adorable to Felix. “You certainly have a gorgeous head, don't you?”

Skye made a "WHAT THE FUCK?" face while Felix fought the urge to vomit in his wastepaper basket.

Jemma then added, “I like men that are about my height but heavier than me.”

Wait. He was **_nine_** inches taller than Jemma. Did she prefer short men?  And Jasper **_was_** closer to her age, also.

Fortunately the Hacker began shouting good sound advice, which caused Felix to snap back to the current situation. “Stop talking. **_Stop_**.”

Jasper was about to call for security when Jemma Simmons whipped out a gun and shot him in the stomach.  Thankfully, he was just shot with the dendrotoxin cartridge, but it was enough. Jemma Simmons was about to leave SHIELD sans parachute, a court martial at best, jail time in a high security prison at worse.

Felix Blake contacted Victoria Hand, gave her an update even as he strode towards the loo… sorry bathroom that Jasper Sitwell had been stowed.

Shit, he had to think quickly, and come up with a feasible plan prior to a vengeful Jasper Sitwell waking. A tradeoff of information that would cause Jasper not to press charges and would give Victoria Hand something worthwhile enough so she’d ‘ignore’ the issue.  And he’d need to blackmail Jasper.  
  
However, Felix Blake would owe Victoria Hand his soul also.

It was a good thing that he had decided Jemma Simmons was his girlfriend because it was gonna be extraordinarily painful being Victoria Hand’s bitch.

* * *

 

A furious Jasper Sitwell woke slowly and painfully. He was on the floor in the ladies’ bathroom, and Felix Blake was leaning against the wall. Much to his horror, Victoria Hand was also in the bathroom, and she was shaking her head.  Charles Shaw, a **_red-headed_** Charles Shaw, also enjoyed the sight of him on his back in the ladies’ bathroom.  

“Seriously, Jemma Simmons? Jemma ‘I never met a field test that I could pass?’ Simmons?” Felix snarked. “If I was you, I’d be so embarrassed.”

“You have the videos, don’t you, Agent Blake?” Victoria Hand asked.  “Duplicated already?”

“Yes, I think they would be great entertainment at the next Christmas party, don’t you? You’re a child of the eighties, right Sitwell?” Blake asked. “I could make a music video out of it. I’m thinking Tommy Shaw’s **_Girls with Guns_**?”

He took out his phone and poked at the screen. The sound of an eighties’ hair band filled the bathroom and a defeated Jasper Sitwell groaned.

_I'll tell you now, and I won't tell you twice._   
_Where, when, and how, I got some bad advice_   
_I never thought I could handle, a girl with guns_   
_And let me tell you, you can bet that I'm not the only one_

 


	12. 12

“Anything interesting happen in the Hub?” Fitz asked. He plainly thought he had the big, bad adventure and while Jemma was loathe to steal his thunder, she had quite possibly destroyed her SHIELD career. She was in need of support from someone who understood her livelihood.  (And while it would have been lovely to confide in Felix, she couldn’t help the nagging feeling that he was FBI or CIA, and probably was a very senior agent who would thoroughly disapprove of a junior agent shooting him in his chest EVEN IF WAS FOR A VERY GOOD CAUSE!)

“I shot a superior office in the chest!” She nervously admitted.

Oh, dear, she sounded as though she was bragging!

“Oh dear God, Simmons, why did you do that?” Fitz protested.  

“It was just with an icer. He should be fine! And I did it for you and Ward.”

Fitz got huffy and did his indignant bit where he puts his hands on his hips, so she decided to leave the lab.  Naturally, she couldn’t make a clean escape. No, she ran into May, who informed her that she needed to speak with Coulson.

* * *

 

She knocked on his office door and received a curt ‘ENTER’.  As Simmons entered the office, a chastened Skye exited. The two comrades in crime didn’t acknowledge each other as ‘Dad’ was looking particularly fierce.

“Hello, sir. I seem to be making a habit of this,” she blurted.

“Yes, you are. This is two incidents of insubordination in the last two months, Simmons. And I’m detecting a pattern with you. First the fire extinguisher and now the Icer. All this time, I thought Skye was my problem child. Simmons, Agent Sitwell wishes to talk to you tomorrow at two.  He’ll send you the meeting invite and you will meet with him.”

She flinched.

“I’m sure he’s unhappy,” Coulson stated as he tried to soften the blow. “Talk to him, explain the situation and hope for the best. For now, you’re technically suspended until you talk to Sitwell. Do you have a place to stay tonight? I can arrange housing for you.”

It was a breach of protocol, because Coulson was only supposed to arrange housing for his team, not a suspended member.

“I’m fine,” she lied. “I’ll stay at the Ramada. I’ll grab a few things and leave.”

“Ramada?”  Phil Coulson wrinkled his nose in pure elitist disapproval. “I know a bed and breakfast.”

* * *

 

Felix Blake’s burner cell rang so he tried to juggle it and two tacos he had just purchased from the taco trunk. It had been an extremely long work week and he had received permission not to work tomorrow because well he HAD put in 80+ hours this week; oh and the previous week also. Plus Jasper Sitwell was all wounded Hispanic male pride because Jemma Simmons had shot him with an ICER and Felix preferred not to deal with him until Jasper calmed down.

As the fine result of multiple Russian couplings, Felix understood that his reactions were completely cultural. If he checked off the traditional Russian values and core beliefs, he’d probably rate 90%+ for the Russian personality. Love of children (1/2 check for Fyodor), respect for the old (check!), sense of humor (Double check as he believed he was hysterically funny! Shame no one else did), strong people-orientation (Check), importance of friendship, generosity, pride, patriotism, love of literature and arts, nostalgia, self-sacrifice, caution, collectivism, pessimism and cynicism. (Check, check, check).  So yes, Sitwell’s reaction was completely understandable based on Felix’s review of Sitwell’s cultural, social and economic abstracts.  He’d be screaming for Simmons’ head on a platter if she had ice’d… sorry… nite nited him.

And if Jasper Sitwell had stepped into the bathroom, and threatened him with starring in a music video for the Holiday Party in order to protect Simmons, he’d direct his rage toward Sitwell, not Simmons.  Didn’t mean Simmons was safe from Sitwell, but he couldn’t do anything outrageous because Fury’s Special Snowflake Coulson would be watching.

“Hey! This is completely unexpected,” he said, when he recognized the phone number. “You in town?”

“Yes,” Jemma admitted. “Can I crash at your place?”

“You ok? You sound upset.”

“Oh, it’s a long story and it’s work related.  They wanted miniature horses, they got Shetlands. My Boss’s Boss is angry and I really just don’t want to talk about it.” Her voice was shaky as she couldn’t lie to save her life.

While he wanted to reassure that everything would be ok, it would blow his cover.

“I understand. Hey, but nobody died, right?” He asked.

There was a soft, unsteady laugh. But when she spoke, her voice was more controlled. “You’re right, nobody died.”

“Then it’s a win.  I’m at Mamacita’s Taquito Truck. What do you want?”

She gave him her order and he doubled it.

* * *

 

Felix Blake was a calm, supportive presence, as she explained that her job was at risk. Her story jumbled up a bit but he nodded as appropriate and prompted her like a skilled interrogator. Stop that train of thought, she warned herself.  Felix was not CIA, FBI, SSR or SHIELD.  He was a data analyst, after all. He was familiar with steering interviews.

“So I have to meet him tomorrow and plead for my job,” she ended.  They were cuddled on the couch and he was stroking her arm.

“Don’t plead,” Felix protested.  “Tell me about this guy that you embarrassed.”

She explained the little she knew about Jasper Sitwell.

“So, you met him while the pony incident was shaking out. Did he take you seriously? Or did he flirt with you? You are pretty and men are dogs,” Felix admitted. “Did he underestimate you?”

She paused, and she admitted, “I think he was flirting.”

“Then don’t plead.  He’s upset that he underestimated your cunningness.”

“I never been told I’m cunning,” she admitted.

“Deliciously devious also,” Felix retorted.  “Slyly sultry also.”

Her expressive face lit up at his compliments.

“I’m keeping you,” Jemma decided with a very happy sigh. “You do wonderful things for my….. ego.”

“Just your ego?” He chuckled as Jemma snuggled closer. “Just your ego? I feel insulted.”

“Well, there’s a lot more you do for me, but I’m trying to be an adult,” she murmured.

“He’s mortified, so if you plead or entreat for his mercy, he’ll be further embarrassed as you’ll appear weak.  He needs to respect your ability so his pride is maintained. There’s no embarrassment being outmanned, as it were, by someone who is your equal or in your case, his better.  However, his pride will be permanently damaged if he decides he was distracted by your looks. Go in, explain what happened, why you switched the miniature horses for the Shetlands or vice versa. Hopefully your boss will get involved also. Interoffice politics can be useful when there are team issues. It’s all based on who holds the top boss’ favor.”

She nodded her head and sighed, “I don’t want to lose my job. I like what I do and I feel useful.”

“Then hopefully your meeting tomorrow will go well,” Felix agreed. He continued stroking her arm and he sighed. “Call me tomorrow, let me know how it goes.  I took tomorrow off as they had me working doubles and triples these last two weeks. I’m too old to keep up with that pace.”

“Oh, so you’re feeling tired?” she asked as she snuggled closer. “Should I tuck you into bed?”

A warm laugh and then a hungry kiss was his response.

* * *

 

The next afternoon, Jemma Simmons met Phil Coulson at the entrance. She wore a suit that was … smarter… then what she regularly wore.  Plus her hair was in a sleek bun that was rather professional in appearance oppose to her casual norm. All in all, she looked like she meant business, because Felix had taken one look at what she had planned on wearing (as she had gotten dressed at nine and asked for his opinion) and had told her that they were heading straight to Macys.

“You like your eclectic style,” he informed her. “However, today of all days, you need to look professional and serious. You want your opponent to realize that he had been outdone by his equal or his better, not some punk kid who wears her brother’s cardigan with a pair of jeans and considers that suitable office attire.”

Considering he was wearing leather work boots, ripped jeans, a jumper and a leather motorcycle jacket, his opinions on fashion didn’t seem rather helpful. However, he flagged down a sales girl, informed her that Jemma had an initial interview with a fortune 500 company, which he couldn’t name due to the confidentially clause, and she needed immediate help.

The sales girl went to work, began throwing clothes at Felix, who dismissed some based on sexiness (Hello! She was planning on coming back for that shirt!) and other arcane unsuitability criteria.  She was given an emergency squeeze in appointment in the makeup and hair salon but the final straw was when her desire for a cute pair of strappy heels were rejected and replaced by sensible flats.

“How tall is the interviewer? Is he your height?” Felix asked, but he mentally added, ‘But heavier?’

Jemma flushed as she no doubt remembered her failed attempts at flirting with Jasper.

“He’s a little taller than me.”

“No heels then,” Felix informed her. “Heels are fine with men of my height and build. Not his.”

Coulson led her to the execution chamber (Ok, perhaps she was a bit dramatic as it was really just a conference room but her whole life was depending on the upcoming conversation). He nodded his head at her, and informed her, “Sitwell’s reasonable. Explain, apologize and you’ll be back on the Bus this afternoon.”

“I shot him,” she reminded Coulson.

“Perhaps next time that won’t be the first solution to your problem,” Coulson offered. “Though thank God, you didn’t hit him with the fire extinguisher.”

* * *

 

Jasper Sitwell sat in the only chair in the Conference Room. Simmons would have to stand and explain her actions to him, though really, the conclusion of their meeting was preordained. He was blackmailed by Hand’s posse and he needed to determine who her fairy godmother or fairy godfather was. Was it Hand? Shaw? Blake?

There was a hesitant knock on the door and he roughly announced, “Enter.”

He stared at the paperwork on the table and refused to acknowledge her existence.  It was a deliberate attempt to break her composure, and for a wonder she stayed quiet for a whole two minutes. He had timed it, and he had anticipated that she’d break within mere seconds.

“I can come back later if you’re busy,” she offered.

“No, no, no,” Sitwell growled. “I need an explanation for why you did this. Also, I’d like to hear why I shouldn’t get your ass dishonorably discharged for assaulting a senior agent.”

Jemma Simmons inhaled and slowly exhaled as she remembered Felix’s advice to speak confidently.  She began by apologizing for injuring Jasper and then explained with quiet sincerity why she had been accessing the panel.  That done, she waited for Agent Sitwell’s response.

She didn’t plead for her job, as well, the decision had been made. Best hold her head high, and hope for the best. Surely, Coulson had intervened.

“I have good news for you, Agent. This incident is being swept under the rug.  I have been requested not to press charges, and I will agree on one condition.”

He stood, and she realized once again that it was fortunate her strappy (though cute) heels had been vetoed as Sitwell was only several inches taller than her.

“If this incident becomes public knowledge, I will destroy you regardless of who your friends are. Is that understood?” His voice was brittle and his eyes blazed with anger.

“Yes, Sir,” she agreed.

“So who did you go to for help? Hand? Shaw? Blake?” Jasper asked. “Coulson only got involved after Hand informed him that you shot me.”

“I beg your pardon?” She asked, as her voice shook. Blake? **_BLAKE_**? “I only know Agent Shaw as he was a recent mission. I don’t know any Agent Blake, and I know Agent Hand only through her reputation.”

“Charlie could have gotten Hand involved, but you claim not to know him that well. So that means Victoria Hand or Felix Blake decided to involved themselves. It couldn’t be Blake, he’s not one to involve himself in issues. If it was anyone else, I’d say he felt guilty about relaying the orders to Coulson regarding you being infected with the Chitauri virus. But he’s not human like that, so Hand, it is. I guess she didn’t want to lose the wunderkind known as FitzSimmons. However, next time that won’t be enough to save you. Is that understood?” 

“Yes, Agent Sitwell,” she murmured.

“You’re dismissed,” he snapped.

She left the room, and returned back to the Bus.  Jemma changed out of her clothes that FELIX BLAKE had bought for her and back into her comfortable, casual clothes. That done, she went to her Cube and closed the door. She tucked herself into a tiny ball and tried not to cry.

Felix Blake was a senior level SHIELD agent.

She had repeatedly shagged a SENIOR SHIELD AGENT.

She was still struggling to process that information when her phone vibrated.  It was a brief message from Felix, “How’d it go?”

She couldn’t answer him. Not right now. Possibly not ever.

 


	13. Interlude

“Simmons is still on the team,” Phil informed Melinda.  “She handled her meeting with Jasper very… professionally. It appeared to me that she had been advised how to handle Jasper Sitwell and his wounded pride.”

He glanced at Melinda May, who naturally, wasn’t saying anything.

“Thank you,” he stated. He didn’t think Melinda had coached Simmons, but she might know who had helped.

“It wasn’t me,” Melinda admitted. “I don’t know who helped.”

“Ward?” Coulson quipped which caused Melinda to smile, slightly.  “Jasper wasn’t happy; it seemed someone  ** _politicked_**.”

Melinda tilted her head, as they were both well aware of the dangers of favors owed, of strings pulled and most ominously of slights that had never been forgotten.

“Hand, Shaw or Blake,” Coulson stated as he had watched from the control room. Just in case Jemma pulled out another night night gun and shot Jasper.

She crinkled her nose.  “Hand has the rank. Not very likely to utilize it.”

“Shaw or Blake?” Coulson prompted.

“Three of them go way back. If Shaw asked, Blake or Hand would have agreed, though Blake would have no reason to get involved otherwise. Probably Weaver.”

Meanwhile, a confused Jemma Simmons remained curled in her pod, until she decided to answer Felix’s text.

**_How’d it go?_ **

 Well, she was pretty sure Senior Agent Blake already knew.  Her stomach was aching and twisted in knots as she knew damn well that sleeping with Senior Agent Blake could torpedo her professional career.  She shouldn’t be upset, because she had kept her secrets also, but somehow it was easier keeping secrets when one foolishly believed that she possessed the upper hand.

Not now.

**_WENT WELL. ALL THXS TO U. Jemma_ **

She hit send, and immediately regretted it even before her phone began to purr and display a picture of a sleeping Fyodor.

**_He is a concerned boyfriend.  Yes, he is your boyfriend._ **

**_How sweet. He’s acting!_ **

**_No, no, no. He took me to Macy’s. He bought me clothes so I didn’t appear like a punk kid._ **

**_He paid in cash, so there was no credit card trail!_ **

**_He’s at least a Level Seven agent as he completely railroaded Jasper Sitwell into an irate impasse._ **

“Hello,” she answered.  Her tone was curt, and there was a long moment of silence.

“Hey, you did it all on your own. I just made a few suggestions,” Felix finally stated. “You ok? You sound…. angry. Is it a bad time to call?”

“No, it’s a wonderful time to call,” she enunciated.

Silence. A long profound silence.

“Uhm… ok. Glad it went well. I guess that means you’re still employed, so… let me know when you’re back in the area.”

Long pause.

“If you want,” he slowly added. “Good bye.”

He disconnected.

She was an idiot, she knew that.  Brilliant in the world of bio chemistry and assorted related fields, but relationship wise, Grant Ward could give her tutorials. (On how NOT to act, her snarky subconscious quickly added).  Therefore she called Felix back, and it went to voicemail. Or so she thought.

"I’m sorry. I’m being a prat,” she explained. “It’s just… he’s my superior and he was furious.  Without you I wouldn’t have been able to handle it as well as I did, and… I’ve been in this relationship thinking that we were equals, but we’re not really. You have so much more real life experience than I do… and… I just … I’m being a childish prat because I like you, I really do, and…”

She exhaled.

“It’s the gray, isn’t it? Well, truth demands that what hair I have left is leaning towards white, actually,” Felix admitted.  “That short little manager of yours probably had a full head of dark hair, didn’t he?”

“Oh bugger!” an embarrassed Jemma exclaimed as she disconnected the phone.

The phone rang once more and she picked up the phone.  Gingerly, as though it was a live snake.

“I could always put black shoe polish in my hair if it makes easier for you,” offered Felix.  “Well, hair dye, but it’s always the same thing with my complexion. It looks like someone took a bottle of shoe polish and did my hair. Is this where you tell me, no play for Mr. Gray?”

Jemma said nothing and Felix sighed.

“I wonder what caused this,” he admitted. “How about you try to wrangle three days off, and let me know when they are?  We could go someplace together and spend some quality time together. While I like you popping in and out of my life, I think it might be beneficial. You can trust me, Simmons. I am one of the good guys, I really am.”

 


	14. 14

“How about you try to wrangle three days off, and let me know when they are?  We could go someplace together and spend some quality time together. While I like you popping in and out of my life, I think it might be beneficial. You can trust me, Simmons. I am one of the good guys, I really am.”

“I know you are one of the good guys,” Jemma lied. Well quasi lied as she wasn’t sure what the hell was occurring Blake had called her **_Simmons_** which he had never before done, because she was always Anne, Jemma or Alina (beautiful).  “I’ll put in for three or four days off, and I’ll let you know when they are.”

“I’ll try to plan something enjoyable,” Blake offered. “I’m assuming you don’t wish to go to the beach.”

“No,” Jemma whispered.

She tightly closed her eyes, remembering the horrifying feel of jumping from the airplane, the increasing terror of being spinning wildly in the blue skies, even while the dark Atlantic grew steadily closer.  The fear of drowning because she was too weak to tread water for too long.

The Moroccan senior agent who had personally overseen her care after her ordeal, who had treated her as though she had been made of spun gold, while Ward’s care had been designated to a junior agent.

_“Salom, I am Zakaria Abdūl-Nūr. I am the head of the Moroccan office. You are safe now,” he assured her in his pleasantly accented English. “You had many people worried about you, Agent Simmons, so I am delighted that I can re-assure them. I will inform them.”_

An enraged Jasper Sitwell, spitting mad in his impotent range.

_“So who did you go to for help? Hand? Shaw? Blake?” Jasper asked._

“Thank you for all your help today,” she repeated.

“It was nothing. You did it all on your own, I just made a few minor suggestions,” Blake protested.

He was BLAKE to her now, no longer Felix, not anymore. No longer would she think of him with his messy bedhead hair, the salty wit and the incredible hands.  No, BLAKE was a SENIOR LEVEL AGENT.

“Boss wants to talk to me, so need to go,” she lied. “Thank you… for **_everything_**.”

“Ok.” His voice slowed and then he slowly spoke, “Goodbye, Jemma.”

“Goodbye, Felix.”

* * *

 

Felix put his phone down and slowly exhaled.  Fyodor, realizing that his pet needed reassurance, padded over him and head butted his lower leg.   HARD. Being well trained, Felix patted the sofa cushion next to him, so Fyodor jumped up to claim it.

“No more sleepovers, tovarisch,” Felix quietly informed Fyodor. “It’s over.  It was nice while it lasted, but… you know… it made me realize how lonely I was.  I love my job, most days, when I don’t have to deal with Phil, and you’re my best friend, but seriously it was nice…. While it lasted. Now it’s just you and me, kid. She must have realized who I am, really.”

He was content to scratch Fyodor for a bit, until he had a very dark thought.

**_Credit Rating?_ **

**_FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK_ **

* * *

 

Jemma returned back to her team. She smiled when her team called her Xena and Annie Oakley, but her smile faded when Skye teased her about her boyfriend.

“It’s over,” Jemma stated. “I don’t want to talk about it. **_Ever_**.”

Naturally, Skye was quick to defend her BFF.

“I can destroy his credit rating,” she offered. “Send a case load of Viagra to his work place with payment required in cash. Put his contact information up on a gay porn site. Not that there is anything wrong with gay or porn or both.”

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, however, that would be an utter catastrophe,” protested Jemma.  “Please. Just drop it.”

If sometimes during the next few weeks, she felt herself reaching for her phone, to send him a quick text; to share a thought or ask his advice, well, Jemma Simmons stopped herself. There were missions to concentrate on, (and if Ward’s ill behavior made her uneasy, because May’s quietness had only increased after she had picked up staff, making her more May than ever, while Ward’s behavior had been as though a façade had been shattered, revealing a different Ward beneath the surface, she couldn’t have gone to Felix …no… BLAKE with that because he was a senior level Agent…)

The team went to the Hub several times. She kept an eye out for Blake, not because she feared meeting him, but it would just be awkward. He was never there, so she assumed that he was keeping a low profile. And if Sky teased her about the effort she put into her hair on those Hub days; that perhaps her personality was slightly bubblier than her norm; well, it always behooved a junior agent to dress nicely and appear **_pleasant_**.

Not that she wanted Felix Blake to gnaw his liver on what he was missing.

She just desired him to know that she was doing wonderful.

Naturally, Bus Monitor Felix Blake knew when Jemma Simmons was at The Hub. He stayed in his office, watched his monitors (and yes, he kept an a monitor specifically allotted  for the Dangerous Duo of Science Whiz and Hacker Grrrl, as recent events had proven that the two of them were incapable of being trusted). He noticed when she changed her hair style (personally, he preferred the loose and wavy curls, fingers run-throughable-look opposed to the straight, flat hair or worst yet, the tightly pulled back thoroughly contained as I’m a serious scientist look) and that her clothes were of a more professional cut though he believed Jillian at Macy’s had created a better style.

She looked happy, bright, chipper. Like she was better off without him. Ok, he was being overly dramatic, but hey, he foolishly believe that they had a connection.  He had even half-heartedly looked at assorted spots for a mini vacation, if she had ever decided that she wanted three days alone with him, and HAD CALLED HIM. He wasn’t being a stalker, he was letting her call the shots.

Well, a man of his age should be damn proud that a young woman like Jemma had been merely utilizing him for sex.  Right?

Maybe if he had decided to take some of those scary drugs on the internet, she’d still be coming round for sleep overs.

It wasn’t because he had omitted his rank and position in their conversations. No, not at all. Damn it, he shouldn’t have gotten involved with the Shooting of Sitwell Situation, but damnit, she had been over her head.

And if Claire claimed that Felix Blake was a nasty little Eyeore, well, his mood would improve once she figured out the coffee machine.

He thought he was an optimist. After all, it could be worse, not sure how. But it could be.

* * *

 

“Agent Blake,” Maria Hill enunciated when she saw him in the hallway at The Hub. “I need to speak with you.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“It’s been a few years since you’ve been in the field,” Maria began after she commandeered his office. “However, I see that you’re still at the gun range, and your accuracy is still among the highest of all agents, active or otherwise. Your last physical was… two weeks ago? The doctor was impressed with your knee considering how badly wrecked it was when you got injured in the line of duty.. Says you have full mobility in it and you even ran a 5K last month? What was your placement again?”

Like she didn’t know.

“Third in the fifty to fifty five age bracket,” he admitted.

“And if you hadn’t stopped for the guy who tripped in a pot hole, I think you could have placed higher. You easily could have won and placed quite high among the competition regardless of their age.”

He tilted his head and asked, “Do I have the ability to refuse this assignment?”

“Nope,” Maria admitted with a cheeky grin. “Coulson’s down.”

“He died again?” Felix drolly quipped. “Should I sent flowers? Food? Make a donation to the Steven Rogers Fan Club?”

“No. He’s on crutches, and he was going undercover into investigate a possible dirty bomb on a cruise ship. No can do with his injury. He can barely walk.”

Felix ceased his smiling.

“And well, his cover was of a fit man in his fifties, slightly balding. Really, you’re the man for the job. Most of the time, desk jockeys lose their taste for the field. I know you want to go back into the field, but we need your skills in the Monitor Program.”

“My hair is receding, I’m not balding. There’s a difference!” Felix Blake protested.

“Newly married to a much younger woman. Honeymoon cruise to your homeland,” Maria continued as though she hadn’t heard him. She had, she had just decided to ignore his plaintive pleats thanks to the Selective Hearing That High Level Agents developed. “Native speaker of Russian would be a great idea.”

“I was already married to Melinda, I won’t go through that Hell again! No matter how many lives will be saved. Besides, my homeland is America. I’m a second generation American born citizen! I don’t need to go on a cruise to see my homeland. Put me on the Staten Island Ferry.”

He said too much, as her eyes narrowed in deep, concentrated thought. FUCK NO!

“Married to Melinda. I didn’t even think about that possibility…. No, no, no. That would be cruel even for me,” Maria admitted with a merry laugh. “However, not a good attitude. I’ll remember that for your next performance evaluation. Blake, you’re going to Russia. Congrats. I know you’ve always wanted to explore your homeland. Consider it a vacation on company time.”

“I’m deeply surprised that Director Fury permits you to draw Eeyores on performance evaluations.”

“Hey, you haven’t rated the pile of poo with daggers in it. I tried to claim it was a porcupine, but Coulson knew exactly what it was. However, no May marriage. You’re getting married to Fitz. Or is it Simmons? The female half of FitzSimmons.”

He heard the clanking of a jail cell being closed. There was no way he’d escape this.

“How about Shaw?” Felix asked. Charlie was a friend, but still, he’d throw him to the wolves (Simmons) if there was a chance he’d escape.

“Has post-traumatic stress from the nose job Simmons gave him.”

“Is it a suite at least?” He requested.

“Back your bags, you’re meeting your wife tomorrow.”

 


	15. 15

Phil Coulson extended his right leg and stared morosely at the ace bandage that was securely wrapped from the tips of his toes up to his mid-thigh.

“I really wanted to visit Leningrad,” he explained to Melinda May for what seemed to be the twenty-fifth time.  “As a tourist, instead of on business.  After all there’s the Hermitage, Peter and Paul Cathedral.”

Melinda said nothing, as was her norm.

“And yes, I’m worried who will be chosen to escort Simmons. I mean…. There’s only a few agents that I’d trust with her, to keep her safe and most importantly to behave. Certainly not Garrett.”

He shuddered even while Melinda May wholeheartedly agreed.

“I think she would be traumatized,” admitted Phil. “I asked Director Hill to sound out Blake to see if he’d be willing.”

Melinda May’s eyes blinked rapidly which was Mayspeak for “Are you NUTS?”

“Yes, I know, it’s like putting Eeyore with Bambi,” Phil admitted. “However, Simmons shot Jasper, so that would be a NO. Shaw refused as he needs his deviated septum fixed and Jacobson is just too scared of Simmons after the incidents with Shaw and Sitwell.  As far as I know, Simmons has never met Blake, so clean slate. He’s arriving tomorrow to meet her and discuss the mission. I asked Hill to grab Blake because Hand would refuse to release him just out of pique. Simmons took the news well, but I promised her the next mission we’ll team up. Probably father daughter.”

* * *

 

Jemma Simmons sat in her cube. The door was closed and it was blessedly silent except for her racing heart.  The message indicator on her phone was flashing as she had, at last count, six messages from Felix Blake.

After months of silence, he had decided to reach out to her, because they were working a mission together. AS A COUPLE ON THEIR HONEYMOON ON A CRUISE SHIP. WITH WATER ALL AROUND HER.  She had glibly assured Coulson that she’d be just fine, that was when she thought that Phil Coulson would be her partner.

Then Coulson had tripped, or had been pushed or something, as he wasn’t admitting what happened and he had been replaced. BY FELIX BLAKE.  WITH WATER ALL AROUND HER! ON A BOAT. IN THE SAME ROOM. WITH WATER ALL AROUND HER. AS A COUPLE ON THEIR HONEYMOON.

**_SIMMONS – CALL ME. BLAKE._ **

Pretty sucky text for the first conversation in months.  Well, yes, she hadn’t texted him, but… he hadn’t seemed to notice her lack of communication, surprising, what with him being a senior level SHIELD agent.

**_SIMMONS – CALL ME PLEASE. BLAKE._ **

**_SIMMONS – WE CAN DO THIS BUT WE NEED TO TALK.  FMB_ **

Deleted without a second thought.

**_SERIOUSLY - WE NEED A GAME PLAN. CALL ME!_ **

Seriously, all those angry capital letters. She needed a game plan and she had the perfect partner in crime.

Jemma opened the door to her cube and Skye gave her a warm friendly smile as though she had just walked by her cube, instead of being stationed there for the last two hours.

“We’re going shopping,” she informed her comrade. “I need …. Sexy… clothes for my honeymoon. I want Mr. Senior Agent to dislocate his jaw.”

* * *

 

Felix Blake checked his phone, confirmed that Simmons had read his texts but she hadn’t answered. (Ah, the joys of being a senior level agent aka BUS MONITOR, sometimes it was worth it.)  In fact, she had deleted several of them. Well, it was time to face the issue headon. He picked up his phone and dialed.

“Coulson,” he stated. “I think I need to meet this agent of yours prior to tomorrow because we have only a limited time to make this farce believable. Care to chaperone our date?”

He paused, let Coulson speak and then laughed.

“Wonderful. I’ll meet you where?” He paused to let Coulson answer and then he sighed, “I’ve heard of them. Think the kid would really like to hear Postmodern Jukebox?”

Another long pause.

“Ok, I’ll stop calling her kid.”

* * *

 

Skye and Jemma had safely made their escape or so they thought. They were about to walk down the ramp of the Bus when Phil Coulson caught them.

“Simmons, going anywhere? I hope not, Agent Blake suggested that going out for drinks might be helpful.”

Jemma’s megawatt smile faded, until she appeared much like a poor fawn caught in the oncoming headlights of a traffic trailer.  A speeding tractor trailer with inoperable brakes, barreling down the unsuspecting hills of Scranton, Pennsylvania with sixty thousands pounds of bananas in tow.

“Don’t look like that,” protested Coulson.

“My reputation precedes me as Agent Simmons appears that she wishes to annul our marriage,” was Felix’s dry comment from a space behind Coulson.  “Was it you or May?”

“May thinks quite highly of you,” was Coulson’s retort.

There was a rather dry snort.  Jemma just knew that Blake had rolled his eyes at that compliment. He didn’t take compliments well.  Blake stepped into view and he was wearing … his battered leather jacket, a well-worn jumper, plus jeans and trainers.  His face was impassive, because he was now AGENT BLAKE, not Felix.  His eyes were wary and guarded, and his posture was tense. It was though he wasn’t sure how she’d react.

His dread made her feel slightly better. Not too much, but enough.

“By look of utter horror on your face, I am assuming that you are the one unlucky enough to be married to me.”  Blake asked. “I bought flowers to soften the devastating blow.”

He handed her a bouquet of bright blooms and she nearly dropped them in her nervousness.

“You don’t have to be so anxious,” Blake stated. “There’s nothing to be apprehensive about. We do the mission, save the world and then go our separate ways. I’m not really in your league, I’m no bright shining star of sciencedom. I’m just Felix Blake so it’s unlikely our paths will cross again. I know we were scheduled to meet tomorrow, but you and I have a great deal of work ahead of us if we’re pretending to be married.”

“I’ll put the flowers in vase,” offered Skye. “Then where are **_we_** going?”

Blake arched an eyebrow. “ ** _We_**?” was the resulting growl. “ ** _We_**?”

“She needs support,” Skye stated.

“She took down Sitwell without breaking a sweat. I fear that I’m the one in need of support and quite frankly Coulson won’t be much help as backup,” protested Blake. “Seriously, **_treadmill_** , Coulson? We trying to impress someone?”

“I’ll ask May,” Coulson quipped.

It was the wrong offer to make, Jemma realized that almost as quickly as Coulson did.  Blake went inward and then only after a moment, did he respond.

“That won’t be necessary,” stated Felix in a very flat tone.  “However, if she was already invited, it’s too late to cancel. I’ll take Agent…. **_Jemma_** ….to the bar so we can have a private conversation. You three can meet us there.”

“Four, Fitz is coming also,” offered Skye.

Blake grimaced.

“At this rate, you should probably invite Ward. If he’s anything like Garrett, he’ll pout if he’s not included,” offered Blake.  “Shall we go, Sim…. **_Jemma_**?”

With a last plaintive look towards Skye, Simmons nodded her head. The two agents turned toward the ramp, and then Blake leaned down to Jemma. In a very loud stage whisper that Coulson and his group could hear, Blake brusquely enunciated, “I’m putting my hand on your lower back. Try not to scream. Or faint. Either would be bad.”

Skye shook her head and Coulson interrupted her dark thoughts.

“Blake’s a good guy, though bit by the books. He’ll keep Simmons safe. I trust him.”

“I’m wondering where I heard his voice before,” Skye admitted. “He sounds like someone I heard before.”

“I endure a great deal of video conferencing with him,” offered Coulson.

Skye didn’t think that was why Blake’s voice was familiar.  However, she’d let the thought percolate for a bit, and then the answer would come to her. It always did.

* * *

 

Felix Blake carefully and deliberately put a gentle hand on Jemma’s lower back. The younger woman’s trembling markedly increased by the time he opened the door to his Jeep. Felix exhaled an extended sigh as she appeared close to collapse.

“I told you, I’m one of the good guys,” he informed her. “I’m not gonna fuck you over. I swear to you, Jemma. We just do this mission, and that’s it.”

“Good guy? Did you know who I was when we were intimate?” protested Jemma.  “That you were a senior level agent having sex with a junior level agent? Is that what a good guy does?”

Felix closed the door to the Jeep, went around to the driver side and climbed in.

“I didn’t know who you were, not originally,” he admitted.  “You and I had already… before I knew. I should have stopped it then when I realized that you were one of Anne Weaver’s Science Twins but… technically… we were not in the same chain of command. If anyone found out, they wouldn’t be happy, but at least you wouldn’t be held responsible.”

She didn’t bother to hide her disgust.

“You didn’t even tell me goodbye,” Felix protested. “So don’t do the wounded Bambi routine with me.  You didn’t even tell me to go fuck off, you just walked away. I had thought we were friends.”

“It was just sex,” she snapped at him. “Not even very good sex.”

He nodded his head once, and then shrugged his shoulders.

"Obviously, it meant a great deal more to me than it did to you," Felix bleakly stated. "I'm quite used to the women in my life feeling that way. I really know how to pick 'em."

 

 

 

 


	16. 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blake thinks Simmons' comment of the earlier chapter was a low blow.

Felix Blake was withdrawn for most of the way to their destination.  He pulled into the parking lot of a down market bar, parked his Jeep and then he spoke.

“I really don’t think we can pull of the happily married couple on a honeymoon,” he admitted.

“You think?” Jemma blurted before she immediately regretted it. She mumbled an apology and Felix just shrugged his shoulders.

“I **_do_** think,” he stated. “Though my personal decision as of late, seem to suggest otherwise. With the rather obvious discomfort between us, I think we should spin this mission as a final desperate attempt to keep a relationship alive. That way I can sleep on the couch. I hope to God there’s a couch, and we can go our separate ways during the day. That way we can cover the cruise ship easier.”

He loudly exhaled as he unbuckled his seat belt.

“You just have to do what I tell you to do,” he instructed.

Her hiss of protest caused his face to darken.

“I don’t think the intel on this particular mission is very good. But just in case there is a dirty bomb, I will get you off that ship **_alive_**. It’s paramount that you follow what I say, and no lip.” He nodded his head, though he seemed to be searching for something. It seemed that whatever he was looking for wasn’t there as his glower turned darker. “She’s not here. Shitttt.”

“Who?” Jemma asked.

“Izzie. I wanted a wingman during this cluster and she’s not here. Fuck,” he cursed.

“She’s SHIELD **_too_**?” Jemma protested.

“Best undercover agent I know, which is why I wanted her here, so she could come up with something plausible about the two of us. Well, let’s go in, I’ll buy you a drink and we can shoot some pool until Coulson and crew arrive.”

She nodded.

“By the way, you should have told me the sex was that horrific. I would have tried.” His voice was as brittle as ice. “You wouldn’t have appreciated the effort, I’m sure. However, I would have fucking tried.”

The slamming of the Jeep door rattled the truck.

* * *

 

Izzie was in the bar, much to Felix’s relief.  She was playing pool in the nearly empty bar and Felix put money on the pool table.

“Rack ‘em up,” he requested. “I’ll buy you the usual. Where’s your bike?”

“Figured I’d be your designated driver, so you have a ready excuse for not heading to the jazz show afterwards,” she admitted. “Bar’s clean. I swept it three times.”

“Good girl,” Blake teased.

Jemma nodded her head and smiled at Izzie. She had decided it best to be very quiet and focus on how much nicer the bar was then it appeared on the outside. There was dark wood, leather chairs and a bar made out of a dark, mellow wood.  Yes, she admired the bar, not that she was nervy about causing Blake to explode.

Why had she made that comment?  She had regretted before she had finished it, but Blake’s anger had frightened her into not apologizing because she accepted that she couldn’t take the sexual slight back. And it wasn't true, not at all, because Felix had been simply marvelous as a lover.  Bugger, bugger, bugger.

“Hello, Jemma. Blake behaving?” Izzie asked which earned her a loud sigh from Blake.

“I always do,” he protested.

“Being an absolute gentleman,” Jemma offered

“That bad?” Isabelle laughed. With a shooing gesture, she waved at Blake.  “Go get our drinks, love.”

He returned in due time with a tray that had four shot glasses and a god awful luridly colored monstrosity that had a droopy flower and an umbrella in it.  It was most assuredly a girlie girl drink and Felix had bought it for her.

She wasn’t quick enough to grab one of the shot glasses as both Felix and Isabelle grabbed two apiece, saluted each other and then drank them down.  Instead, she was left with the foo foo drink so she hesitantly drank it. Felt her teeth rot as it was unbelievably sweet.

“Want to play a game? Felix will show you how to rack the balls,” Izzie chortled.

“Sadly, I was informed that my ball skill is piss poor, so there will be no racking of my balls tonight. I think I’ll have another drink or six. Might make this fiasco go easier. I mean Coulson, May and Simmons, what a great night.” Felix brightly announced.  “All I need is John Garrett to show up. I mean, what’s a party without that asshole making sexually suggestive come on remarks to me.”  

He snapped his fingers as though he had a brilliant idea.

“Maybe I can stop his incessant sexual harassment by having Simmons give a physical reference to Garrett.”

His comment hit and scored, so he flashed a fake smile. Then Blake meandered to the bar where he spoke to the bartender.

“Oh, that’s why he called me,” Izzie murmured.  “I’ll get him calmed down.  I may need a tranq gun, actually because he’s become incredibly angry in the hour since I last spoke to him. Got the night night gun?”

“You know?” Jemma whimpered.

“I saw the music video.”

“Music video?” Jemma repeated. “There’s a music video?”

Izzie happily nodded her confirmation. “Felix wasn’t happy when he called me, now he’s down right vicious. What happened?”

“He took offense to a comment I made,” Jemma softly confessed.

“Good idea what it referenced.” Izzie admitted. “Coulson is here, so you go talk to him. I’ll calm Felix down so he’s not such a bloody prick. Give me ten minutes.”

* * *

 

Felix Blake ordered food as drinking without eating was a recipe for disaster especially at a work function where he firmly disliked most of the people there. OK – truth demanded that he modify that. His anger towards Melinda had faded, Coulson didn’t bother him except when he did something stupid and gave Blake agita. (see Biochemist, san shoot, jumping out of airplane for more details) but Jemma Simmons was an open, oozing wound.

They hadn’t been in love, but he had foolishly believed they had a good time when they were together. Maybe he had even tentatively put her in the ‘friend’ category of which there was only a select few. They had seemed to really hit it off. Well, except for the sex, which had been piss poor for her.  (Seriously, she had faked that one scream that had his next door neighbor calling him, ‘a naughty boy’ in Russian?)

 For a moment, he was tempted to order the fried curry cheese curds for Jemma because his order always went missing whenever he ordered them, but he gave himself a mental slap.

**_DON’T BE A FUCKING IDIOT.  YOU’RE NOT HAVING HORRENDOUSLY BAD SEX WITH HER SO THERE IS NO PERSONAL OBLIGATION TO ENSURE THAT SHE’S FED AND WATERED._ **

He ordered food for Izzie and himself, paid, and told the bartender he needed a smoke.  “It’s for me and the black haired lady. The girl with the fruity pop drink can order for herself. She also pays for herself. Run a tab for me and the black haired lady.”

Bartender nodded then smiled when Blake slipped him a tip early.

“Smoke,” he informed Coulson as Simmons ran to Dad for protection.

* * *

 

He had just taken a much need drag off his cancer stick when Izzie sat down next to him. She held out her hand in a commanding gesture and he handed it to her with a shake of his head.

“Don’t tell Vikki where you got the cigarette from,” he requested. Victoria Hand was down on cigarette smoking and over the years … decades… he had known her, his Christmas presents had often consisted of devices meant to assist him kick the habit.  Never worked, but prices being what they were, he smoked infrequently these days.

“She’ll know,” Izzie carelessly admitted after a very long appreciative puff. “I don’t hide anything from her.”

“Must be nice,” Blake protested, which sounded bitter to even his ears.

“You should have made an excuse why you couldn’t work with her,” Izzie offered. “I’m surprised you didn’t, considering how bad the break seems to have been.”

“Thought I could, but…” he shook his head as she handle him back the cigarette.

“You were the best sex I ever had with a man,” Izzie offered. Naturally, she opined it when he was trying to inhale which caused him to choke because CHRIST ALMIGHTY, IZZIE WAS A LESBIAN.  “Vic would agree also. Jemma’s a kid who wanted to hurt you and she succeeded.”

“I was drunk and despondent when you two seduced me,” he protested as the dangerous duo had taken carnal care of him on the dark night he had signed his divorce papers.  “As far as I know, I’m the only man…”

“Felix, lives can be saved,” she interrupted him.  “That’s why we do this and why we continue doing it. That’s why you don’t report Garrett because he’s good at what he does.”

He nodded.

“Finish your smoke, and let’s go get them, Tiger,” Izzie teased.

* * *

 

Simmons spoke with Coulson and stated her heartfelt request that she be removed from the assignment. “I don’t know if Agent Blake and I will be able to handle this mission together. I am not field certified, as you are aware. It would be different if I was with a member of the team, because they know my limitations. Agent Blake is not aware of my insufficiencies.”

Coulson waivered, she could tell, but then Felix Blake spoke behind her.

“Nonsense, I’ve seen the videos. You took down Sitwell with a flirtatious smile and a tranq gun.  Don’t be modest, Agent Simmons. We need your skill set on this, and I’m the agent closest to matching Coulson’s age and description. We will do just **_fine_**.”

And Jemma Simmons couldn’t hide her grimace.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take the couch,” he offered. “Coulson, this is a suite, correct?”

Agent Blake leaned down towards her and offered, “Agent Simmons, you need to work on your voice control. When you get upset or nervous your voice rises in pitch and your vocal speed picks up. We can work on that while we’re on the cruise."

Warm, happy smile as though Felix Blake didn't wish her dead in a thousand different ways.

"I’ve always wanted to go to Russian on a paid vacation.”


	17. 17

“So, Virgo? I bet you’re a Virgo,” Felix Blake cheerfully offered that comment to a nervy Jemma Simmons.  “Analytical, discriminating, precise, considerate and reliable, and the fact that Coulson has described you as one of the Holy Trinity of Intelligentsia. That’s a Virgo to a V.”

He smiled as though pleased with himself.

“That’s sweet,” Jemma managed to murmur to Coulson. “Are you into astrology, Blake?”

“No,” Blake admitted.  “And it’s **_Felix_** , please. I read up on it as there was a case with an astrologer that required me to know about which house was ascending and where his moons were located. I have found that it’s great for conversation starting. The crazed astrologer was the last case I worked with Coulson as I blew out my knee. Or was it the knife wound?”

“Knee,” offered Coulson. “I don’t remember any knifing when we worked together.”

“Sitwell, then. You’ve met him?” Felix asked, as though he didn’t know how well she and Sitwell knew each other.

“I think everyone knows that Agent Sitwell and I have met,” Jemma admitted. The bar where they were meeting was in actuality a SHIELD Safe House, so it was safe to talk shop.

Felix Blake didn’t even crack a smile, no he continued one as though they hadn’t met. This ordeal was horrifyingly funny, as though she had fallen into an Alternative Universe. Really, where was the one-eyed Brigade Leader sans mustache?

“So, Simmons…. Jemma…” Felix continued. “We will have to get our story straight.  Hartley is willing to help us craft a believable cover story.”

“I actually don’t know if I can,” Izzie dryly admitted. “Simmons is so uncomfortable with you the only idea I have is human trafficking.”

A nervous Jemma twittered and Felix’s smile was still frenzied, still forced.

“That wasn’t nice,” Blake retorted. “Apologize to Jemma for even considering that she’d look like a scum who’d traffic me. Besides, who’d pay money for me? A broken down old man?”

The almost manic Felix Blake was then replaced by his more despondent doppelganger.

“Your cover story won’t work, Coulson,” Felix admitted as he collapsed into one of the leather chairs.  He exhaled loudly and motioned for the bartender for another round of drinks. “Jemma and I can’t carry off the newlywed glow. That happy act just now gave me a blistering headache. Really, it would be best if the cover story was that this trip was a last attempt at salvaging a disintegrating relationship. Jemma can be the obviously uncomfortable partner who wants to move on and I can easily pretend to be the older man that realized that he cared more about her than she did about him. There can be distance and discomfort, and sometimes I can look as though….”

He sagged his shoulders and then looked at Jemma, as his countenance was that of a man whose heart was broken.

Felix snapped out of it, quickly, fortunately for Jemma and then Felix quipped, “That’s my divorce face. Here comes the rest of your team, Coulson. Funny, I figured May would be here already intent on protecting her little cubs.”

Coulson appeared as though he wished to say something but thought better of it.

“Why not Ward?” was Felix’s next question.

“Too risky. Garrett had a run in with them,” Phil explained.

“I don’t think Bambi will be able to do this,” Felix protested. “I don’t want to be responsible for her and her safety.”

Really, that was the final straw. Bambi? She wasn’t BAMBI, if she had to be a female Disney character, well, Jemma Simmons wished to be Mulan. Or Ellen Ripley! Sara Jane Smith!

“You don’t have to be responsible,” snapped Simmons. “I am fully capable of taking care of myself. And never fear, when I have to rescue you, I  will continually remind you.”

“Good God,” Felix retorted. "Rescue you? I am completely convinced that forest animals assist you dress in the morning.”

Now she was Cinderella? Bloody hell, NOT!

“I don’t need your assistance in this mission or any other,” she protested. “I am an Agent just like you are.”

“I saw the Sitwell music video,” Felix retorted. “You panicked and **_shot_** him. By doing that, you humiliated him and made yourself an enemy.  He was gunning to get you a one way ticket to the Fridge for the remainder of your enlistment but somebody intervened. Did you even thank Coulson for saving your ass? He probably owes his soul to Beelzebub herself. ”

“ ** _Felix_** ,” snapped Izzie.

Her low tone seemed to throw cold water on Blake as he capitulated.

Blake nodded his head and stated with surprising sincerity. “Phil, I don’t want to be responsible if anything happens to her. I’ve got a bum leg. She has failed her field test… what… a dozen times?”

“I **_almost_** passed last time,” Jemma protested while Felix mouthed ‘almost… almost?’

“We would also need to sell the idea that at one time, she and I were dating; that there was a relationship…” Felix continued.

“Please, I was just using you for your black card,” interrupted Jemma. “And for sex which wasn’t that good. I mean, I was woefully disappointed about your technique considering all the **_prostitutes_** you frequented…”

Jemma had hoped to fluster Felix with that comment, instead his eyes narrowed and the fight was on.  
  
“Prostitutes? Yeah, I had whores on the side, they, at least, pretended to care about me,” snapped Felix.  “Not my black card.”

Fitz was scarlet and Skye was laughing.

“All I wanted was to you to be honest with me,” Jemma announced. “I didn’t care a lick about your E.D.. It’s perfectly natural for a man of your age to have difficulties occasionally. Or frequently in your case.”

“I never had a problem. I seem to remember your screams of ecstasy waking the neighbors that one time,” retorted Felix. “You’re the one that insisted that Good Girls didn’t do certain **_normal_** things.”

A hurt Jemma Simmons gasped, “You said that you didn’t mind! That you understood why I wouldn’t….”

She stopped before she could continue.

“I lied!” Felix insisted much to the delight of their studio audience.

“We’re totally off script now,” Phil murmured to May.  “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they were divorcing.”

Melinda May nodded her head in pretend agreement because she remembered how when Felix had handed her the divorce papers, it had been a quiet, respectable affair.  He had given up on their relationship before he had the papers drawn up.  He had dutifully presented her with the paperwork, with not the raw anger she had anticipated, but with instead more of a resigned melancholy.

Felix had been livid, yes, but he had kept his anger to himself.

This…. This… improvisation was a little too raw, a little too much anger on both ends. Not just Felix being annoyed that he had to run a mission with Simmons, but he was deeply disturbed that he was put in the predicament that he had ensure her safety.   

“Bad news you’ve totally convinced me that you two are having a disintegrating relationship. Pack your suntan lotion, you’re heading out on the Cardinal Vista tomorrow,” Phil informed Felix and Jemma.

 


	18. 18

Jemma was throwing comments at Felix Blake, wild, off the wall comments while he struggled to remain in character and not laugh.

However, perhaps it had been better that Simmons had just decided to end their relationship without even so much as a “Fuck Off Loser”. As Simmons was VISCIOUS during a breakup fight.

The final straw was when she informed him in a very haughty tone, “In spite of what you informed your friends, I am NOT sexually frigid. My previous boyfriends had no complaints.”

He stopped, nodded his head in true, exhausted defeat and then leaned towards her so the onlookers wouldn’t hear his retort.  If he was correct in his physical placement, it would appear as though he was leaning over to give her a hug and a chaste kiss on the cheek. “I never told anyone you were frigid. I believed that you were sexually inhibited because of previously less than satisfactory experiences. Foolishly, I had hoped that if I tried hard enough, you might learn to actually enjoy having sex. It’s pretty obvious I failed and I do regret that. And yes, as you delightedly informed your team, my technique sucked and my penis isn’t adequately sized to pleasure a Barbie Doll and you faked every single moan. To my profound regret, there will be no pleasant memories from our time together that will cause you to smile later on. Now, I understand that your goal is to make my life a living hell during this assignment, but let’s not lose track of our true goal in your thirst for righteous retribution, **_Agent_**. Lives will be saved.”

She flinched. Which meant he had scored. Deeply.          

He hadn’t meant to, but Agent Blake was In the House now. Not Felix.

He pulled away and faked a smile.

“Well, Jemma and I have agreed that she has the active dislike stage down quite well,” announced Felix. “Now, we need to work on her not screaming when I touch her. Shall we dance?”

He held out his hand and then, gingerly, with a very loose grip, he took her wrist.  He guided her towards the dance floor, such as it was, and then Izzie (BITCH!) hit the jukebox (Did they still have those in bars?) with some dance music.

Some dance music, Bonnie Raitt’s “I Can’t Make You Love Me”.

Then Jemma stepped on his foot. No doubt deliberately, as he thought he heard the bones crunch.

However, he ignored the pain and attempted to lead her some sort of dance.

“I take it that you’ve never had the need to waltz?” he asked. “Very well, this first lesson will be the box step. It is very important so pay heed.”

* * *

 

Phil Coulson shook his head in quiet disbelief, while the rest of the team watched the train derailment in a quiet, horrified fashion.  Even the normally quick witted Skye had no witticism capable of adequately summing up the horror in front of them.

“No, no, no,” Izzie announced as it was obvious to her that someone was required to right the Titanic.  “You need to relax, Simmons. Excuse me.”

She tapped on Blake’s shoulder. He appeared beyond grateful for the reprieve, as he eagerly offered Jemma’s hand to Izzie. “All yours!”

“No, no, no.  The waltz isn’t working, Felix,” Izzie stated.

“You think?” retorted a quite exasperated Felix.  “What gave you that idea? The fact that she spiked my instep?”

“Madame Pierron would be delighted as your form is as good as it gets. However, Simmons…” Izzie sighed.  “Why the waltz?”

Felix turned to face Izzie as he protested, “It’s a classical dance that is taught in a REQUIRED class at the Academy. I thought she would know it. I didn’t realize that she got excused from PE.”

Jemma’s expressive mouth opened in protest.

“In my defense, my partner wasn’t as tall as you,” snapped Jemma.  “I feel like I’m trying to dance with a giraffe.”

“Oh, he was your height but heavier?” was Felix’s instinctive retort. “I saw your conversation with Sitwell so I know your type. I’m sorry, I’m taller than Fitz and heavier too, so I will never be your ideal dancing partner but I’m trying. You on the other foot, seem determined to maim me. Was it necessary to step on my foot? You have to understand that there is a dearth of fifty year old agents in SHIELD able to replace Coulson.”

“Because you’ve all retired out on medical?” Jemma sweetly asked.

Felix held up his hands in defeat and softly laughed.  “Give her to Garrett,” he protested as he pulled out his cell phone. “I’m calling Hill and requesting that I get reassigned.”

“Wait,” Coulson requested as he crutched his way over to the undynamic duo. “Let me talk to her.”

“Hill? Use your own phone,” snapped Felix.

“No, Simmons. Give me five minutes and I promise you that there will be a change in her attitude,” requested Phil.

“Let’s go play pool, Felix. Twenty bucks I can beat you,” Izzie offered.

Blake grimaced and put his phone away.

-=-=-

Coulson exhaled and then shook his head in stern, paternal disapproval at Jemma Simmons.

“Simmons, I’m only excusing your bad behavior as you obviously learned about Agent Blake’s orders when you were infected by the virus. However, I need to remind you of a key issue. The fact that lives are at stake doesn’t seem to have increased your enthusiasm for this mission, so perhaps I need to remind you that professionally, you are on very shaky ground now. In the past few months, you have assaulted two coworkers, one of which is your superior officer. If you want to stay in the field, and not in the unemployment line, I’d suggest that you try to get along with Agent Blake. If Blake succeeds in contacting Hill and informs her that you’ve been uncooperative, not only will you be no longer employed by SHIELD, you will find it extremely difficult to find a job flipping burgers as you will be blacklisted.”

“Starbucks is always hiring,” a sullen Jemma offered.

“Not you when Hill is done with your background check,” admitted Phil. "You won't be able to get a job as migrant worker picking oranges."

“He’s being bit of a prat,” protested Simmons. “He’s comparing me to Disney characters!”

“He brought you flowers, Simmons,” Phil reminded her. "And truthfully, he isn't the only one that compares you to Disney characters."

“He bought me Sex on the Beach, with umbrellas,” Jemma explained. “Not a beer, but Sex on the Beach.”

Coulson struggled not to laugh, but he only partially succeeded as he smirked.

“Felix Blake has a very quirky sense of humor, he was being funny,” Coulson explained.  “Then he expressed his serious reservations about being partnered with you and then you threw in the comments about using him for his black card and PROSTITUTES. I was afraid you would start mentioning FARM ANIMALS next, Simmons. I need you on this mission because of your skill set, and right now, Felix Blake is the only agent I can trust with you.”

“What about this Garrett fellow?” Jemma asked. Felix Blake’s disapproval made this Garrett fellow sound like someone with whom she could work.  Probably a great deal of fun unlike Mr. Glower.

“No, no, no, no, no. No. No. No. I do **_not_** trust Garrett with you as he’s a flirtatious asshole.  Blake, I do trust with you as he won’t step over that line. Also, what I witnessed just now, just sealed the deal, as he easily kept up with your spurious accusations. If I didn’t know both of you, I’d swear you two had a rather bitter breakup.”

“It was his fault, the prostitutes you know,” protested Jemma.

“You accused him of erectile dysfunction, Simmons.  I need you to focus your fertile imagination on pretending you two are dating? I have complete faith in you, Agent. Don’t disappoint me.”

Really, that comment made Jemma feel very guilty.  

* * *

 

Felix had lined his shot up perfectly and the twenty dollars was his for the taking as there was no way he’d miss.  He aimed and then Jemma Simmons leaned on him and wrapped her hands around his waist.  The shot went wild and an amused Izzie pocketed the twenty.

He turned to face Jemma, who then molded herself against him and hugged him tightly. She even stood on her tiny toes and kissed him on the cheek before latching onto him once more.

“I can’t wait for our vacation,” she cooed. “We can get our relationship back on track.”

Felix Blake turned to Izzie, one of his two best friends, and mouthed, “Agent in trouble.”

Izzie didn’t bother to hide her amusement at the recent 180 in events. Meanwhile, Jemma hugged him tightly and assured him that she had bought his favorite red bikini for their trip.

* * *

Jemma’s attempts at being flirtatious and fun terrified Felix. She sat on his knee (the bad one) which his painful yelp caused her to slide off, land and remain between his legs.  When his curry cheese curds arrived, she ate off his plate, and fed him one or two.

She was completely the Anti-Jemma he had dated.

She extremely affectionate and hands on (he had to gently slap her hands a few times as she was getting too frisky).  When their meet n’ greet ended, he offered her a goodbye handshake much the amusement of her team.

“Come on, Felix. A handshake?” she cooed. “No one will believe that we’re dating.” The volley thrown, she latched onto his leg (fortunately his good one) and climbed up on him to deliver a thermonuclear kiss.

God, how he loathed Coulson and his motivation speeches. However, when he arrived at their suite the next day, burdened down with his and her luggage, he realized that he hated Coulson the Travel Agent even more.

"Where's the bloody sofa?" he asked. "I don't see a sofa! Where am I supposed to sleep?"

 

 


	19. 19

“We seem to be missing the couch,” Felix Blake, Master of the Obvious, dutifully informed Jemma Simmons.  “Coulson **_promised_** me a **_couch_**. One of my _**very** _ own, I might add. Do you see a couch hiding, perhaps, underneath the missing sofa?”

“There’s obviously no couch,” a tired Jemma protested.  She ran her hand through her hair before she collapsed on the edge of the king sized bed. Good God, a twenty three day cruise with Felix Blake and there was only one bed.

“Don’t worry, there’s two chairs. I can manage,” stated Felix even as he checked the cleanliness of the suite (searching for bugs both electrical and biological).   To his delight, there was none. “Have you ever been on a cruise before?”

“A day cruise,” admitted Jemma.

“I’ll unpack first,” he suggested as he began to do so.  He was done, quickly and efficiently taking ½ of the dresser for his use, and then he suggested that she unpack so they could explore the ship. “We need to familiarize ourselves with the ship, plus I made reservations at the French restaurant.  You like French food?”

She made a noncommittal gesture and Blake nodded his head.

“Yes, that attitude is perfect. Keep it up,” he informed her.

Jemma was about to protest his character assassination when she realized that he was serious.

“Remember, you just want this farce to end and I’m trying to convince you that I’m worth another chance,” he reminded her. 

There was a soft knock on the door, and he brightened.

“I think that’s the champagne I ordered,” he explained.

“Champagne?” she protested even as Felix opened the door.  “Felix? Champagne? Really?”

Felix Blake stepped outside the suite and he slipped the crewman a fifty dollar bill. Really, it was extravagant, but it was Coulson’s budget, not his.

“Thank you,” he said. Then in an embarrassed tone, he added, “Look, I need your help. I want to make this cruise absolutely romantic.  She wants to call it quits, I’m trying to convince her to give me another chance. She’s **_amazing_**.”

The crew member wisely said nothing about the noticeable age difference as he had concentrated on ensuring that the fifty dollars had quickly disappeared.

“Spa reservations, one of those little cabanas on the decks on a sea day so we can get some sun and some time together. Make suggestions and I will remember and **_appreciate_** your help.”

Blake nodded his head, and the crewman promised him a cruise full of romance. Amazing how financial reward motivated some people. 

“I’ll stop by after the muster drill and slip a proposed itinerary under your door,” Skippy the Crew Member assured The Rich Old Man.

“I know we’ve got quite a few sea days before we get to Europe, so spa days are good. Do they offer tours of the ship? I am an engineer so I’d love to see the engine room, or do you have anything in the kitchen? I found that if I cook she’s a little more… cheerful,” Felix offered.  “Lessons would be great.”

Which meant, he was really blowing Coulson’s budget but hey, he didn’t even rate a goddamn couch. Plus he needed to sell the idea that he was the desperate old man trying to hang onto his midlife crisis while he familiarized himself with the two areas most likely to be sabotaged by a chemical bomb – the kitchen and the engine room. He’d have to sneak around to check the water supply but he had a few toys that he could drop that would crawl their way to that sanctuary.

First thing tomorrow he’d take a long stroll around the promenade deck

He wheeled the cart with the champagne in the ice bucket and the strawberries into his suite (THE ONE WITH WITH NO COUCH!) and then closed the door behind him.

“I remember how much you liked Champagne and strawberries,” he said loud enough for Skippy the Crew Member to hear him if he was eavesdropping.  He popped the cork and then poured.  That done, he used one of his tech toys and confirmed that the food was safe and that the room was soundproofed.

“I’m not familiar with that device,” Jemma stated as she pointed at it. Her nose was crinkled in disgust as it wasn’t a Fitzsimmons designed marvel.

“It’s not one of yours. I thought you’d bring your toys, I’d bring mine and that way if one misses something the other one will alarm,” he admitted.   He offered her a glass of champagne and she didn’t take it. “Come on, drink it. Promise, no roofies.”

He smiled. Brightly.

“You need to be hydrated for the muster drill,” he stated.  “I’m sure you desire to know where all the fire extinguishers are.”

He beamed then, seemingly proud of that verbal jab, and she exhaled. Loudly. In response, he slumped his shoulders and sighed

“Seriously have a drink,” he requested.  “Krug Grande Cuvée NV. Excellent vintage.  It’s a lot like me, fun and gentle according to the reviews.”

She couldn’t help herself, she smiled.

* * *

 

After two glasses of really delightfully fun and gentle champagne, Jemma decided she should freshen up and changed into her cruise wear. She gave her hair a good brushing, brushed her teeth and did a minor touch up on her makeup.

She came of the restroom to discover Felix Blake standing in front of a mirror. He was wearing shorts, and he was adjusting himself, pivoting himself and then readjusting himself.

“I can assure you it’s not that noticeable in those shorts,” she quipped as well two people could snark,

Soft bark of a laugh while Felix dimpled and nodded his head

“Trying to hide the gun,” he explained.  “The knives weren’t such a problem, but the gun is. And seriously, did I ever grab my crotch and adjust myself when we were doing whatever that was? In front of you? I think not, I’m a gentleman. Garrett, on the other hand, would adjust and then he’d expose himself, claiming the boys needed an airing.”

Roll of his eyes.

“You don’t like him,” Jemma stated.

“He’s good at what he does,” was Blake’s noncommittal reply. “May assured me that you are able to defend yourself.  What toys did you bring? Can you wear them in the pool?”

“Pool?” Jemma protested. “We’re not on vacation.”

“We need to people watch.  Pool is an excellent place to watch people,” Felix explained.  “Muster drill will happen shortly. You look disinterested, I’ll look pathetically hopeless and we will people watch. How good are you at people watching? Can you make a snap judgment about someone? More importantly, is your gut correct?”

“My last snap judgement was about you,” she admitted.

“Well, I guess that’s a **_no_** ,” Blake rumbled. His smile was a bit forced and then the announcement blared overhead about the muster drill. “Come along.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to his comment so she decided to leave the cabin, sans comment.  Felix locked the door after them and she noticed how he had carefully placed a thread in the door, so he’d know if it was opened.

“Penny’s noticeable,” he whispered.  Then in a louder, jovial tone, he pointed at a silver device and loudly announced, “Look, Jemma. There’s the fire extinguisher! It’s located right next to our cabin.”

 

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

Jemma wrinkled her nose at Felix in response to him pointing out a fire extinguisher. After all, who had taught her that trick to view everything as a possible weapon of defense? Felix M. Blake. Senior Agent.

He caught her annoyance and he smiled.  Ok, actually, Blake did a quick half-step, nearly stepping on a pair of older ladies who were people watching.  He snapped and pointed his fingers at her while he cheerfully announced to uncaring crowd, “That’s a smile, Jemmy! I got a smile. I most assuredly got a smile.”

“Is not,” she protested.  With a tired, distracted gesture, she pushed his fingers away even while she bemoaned the fact that in her immediate future there were TWENTY THREE MORE DAYS OF BLAKE. The bastard smiled at her and she attempted to protest. “Don’t call me Jemmy, and that was not a smile!”

“Is too!” announced one of the ladies.

Felix turned on the charm and smiled at the two older women.  

“Felix,” he introduced himself. “The lovely lady who doth protest that she isn’t smiling, even though she is, is Jemma. I call her Jemmy as she’s such a gem.”

Jemma smiled, weakly, as slapping Felix in front of witnesses would be so terribly gauche.

“She’s smiling,” the other woman announced. “Kate. She’s Daria.”         

“I do believe that I am detecting the trace of a Russian accent?” Felix questioned.  His voice was low, slightly accented and Jemma refused to admit to herself that it sounded quite sexy.

“Yes, going back to where I was born,” Kate explained.  “I don’t really remember much as I left it early to come to the States.”

“I can’t wait to show Jemma the land of my ancestors,” Felix explained. “My family is from outside Saint Petersburg.”

* * *

 

Felix Blake nattered and chattered to the ladies who had the misfortune of meeting them. He was bubbly, dare might she even say flirtatious? The older women, she guestimated that they were retirement age, ate it up like candy.

“Pay attention to the drill,” Felix insisted when he finally remembered that they were supposedly a couple. “It’s very important that you know what the plan is when there’s a crisis. Spur of the moment plans have a tendency of backfiring.”

Again with the bright smile, just in case she missed him being a smart arse.

She wanted to be snarky, instead she found herself distracted by the view. Rationally, she had known what to anticipate. Boat. Great deal of Blue around them. But now they that they had, in fact, embarked, and there was nothing but blue surrounding the boat. Blue skies, blue….water…. a great deal of blue water.  Her knees trembled, her stomach sank like the Titanic, while her brain stated that was a VERY BAD ALLUSION.  The captain continued talking and she sounded a great deal like the adults in the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special that Skye had insisted that she watched

**_Bahbaaa baaa bala blaaaaa._ **

Felix roughly grabbed her around her waist and he leaned down towards her ear.

“Deep breath,” he whispered. “Slow inhalation, hold it, and then exhale. Concentrate on slowing your breathing. The speech is almost over and then we can return to the cabin.”

He pretended to kiss her face and then he straightened. His arm was still wrapped around her middle as he was supporting her.

The speech stopped and then one of the Felix’s harem spoke.

“Jemma, dearie, are you alright?”

Daria, her mind processed.

Felix’s hand slid slightly downward as he explained, “She feels queasy.”

**_DEAR GOD HE DID NOT JUST IMPLY THAT I AM PREGNANT. IF I WASN’T HAVING A PANIC ATTACK I WOULD CASTRATE HIM THEM AND THERE AND SACRIFICE HIS DANGLY BITS TO APPEASE THE BLOOD SEEKING, UNAPPEASABLE GOD OF JUNIOR AGENTS._ **

“I told her not to eat at the Taco Truck at the wharf, but she insisted. Pardon me, I must to take her back to our cabin and ensure that she’s ok.”  She nearly hurled as he sounded just so damn sincere and caring, and it reminded of how he had taken such good care of her after Professor Hall’s death. Back when he was just Felix, not Senior Agent Blake.

“She looks very pale,” Kate admitted.

“I’ll get some crackers and some seltzer. She’ll be fine, I hope. Nice meeting you, I’m sure we’ll meet again,” Felix assured them even as he pretty much manhandled her back to their cabin.  After a brisk walk in which he kept murmuring at her to SLOW HER BREATHING DOWN, which was hard, as they were doing a mile in 5:00, they were at last back in the cabin.

“Lie down, close your eyes,” he tersely ordered even while with a practiced ease, he stripped her of her shoes and her socks before her left her side.  He closed the curtains to the balcony so there was a comforting darkness, opposed to an overwhelming blue.

She focused on slowing her breathing and she didn’t hear Felix return. Instead, she jumped when she felt a cold towel against her forehead.

“Keep your eyes shut,” he reminded her. “Concentrate on slowing down your breathing. If you need anything, I’ll be sitting on the balcony.”

Really, she wasn’t sure what was the lesser of two evils. Blake sitting outside on the balcony, leaving her alone or … him in the room.

“What time are our reservations?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm and level, NO GASPING, but her voice trembled.

“Five,” he stated.  “You can take a nap, if you want, still have time to shower and change. Or I cancel, and call room service.”

“Perhaps you can ask your new friends to dinner, I think they’d like that,” she decided, as really she needed a few hours alone to compose herself.

He laughed and then he explained. “They’re married to each other.  They’re not interested in me, Jemmy. You’re more their type.”

“Don’t call me Jemmy,” she futilely protested even as she rolled on her side.

* * *

 

Felix Blake took the satellite phone and his tablet with him as he decided to sit on the balcony.  Vitamin D Therapy after all. The crew and guest rosters should have been downloaded to his computer so he’d have a chance to peruse them, make notes and … who the hell was he kidding? He needed to determine how to manage Jemma’s PTSD while still completing the mission.

Naturally, his phone rang.

His mind made a very helpful comment about Payback, so he tried not to smile. Smiling would clue Coulson that he was about to get fucked. Really, Coulson deserved it because how the HELL could he not realize that Simmons should not be in the field?

Unless, he had been planning on seducing Simmons as part of her recovery. After all, there was only one bed AND NO COUCH in their suite. Plus, Phil had strained his ankle on the treadmill, no doubt as he had been showing off.

No, no, no.

Not Phil.

Jasper Sitwell, hell yes and pass the offering plate, but not Phil Coulson.

“Blake,” he growled.

Coulson and the Expressionless Melinda May appeared on his screen. How sweet, she was nursing him through his sprained ego.

“Hello. We might have good news. Two cops pulled over a speeding van, and our suspects were delayed sufficiently long enough for them to miss the boat,” Phil informed him.

Felix nodded.

“They are being questioned,” Phil continued. “Giving up a great deal of intel.”

“Too easy,” Felix protested. “This is way too easy.”

“Agreed,” Phil stated. “That’s why I’m not pulling you off the boat. However, Blake? What are you doing to my credit card?”

Felix Blake deliberately thumbed a small device that appeared to be nothing more than one of those Swiss army knives.  You know, it slices, it dices, it makes julienne fries. However it was quite capable of making an electromagnetic disturbance sufficient enough to take down a satellite phone.

Coulson’s face went sideways due to the static.

“I’m sorry, we have a bad connection,” intoned Blake. “You were saying?”

“Blake, my credit card?” Phil repeated. “Champagne? Spa trips?”

The expression on Coulson’s face was priceless as he realized that Felix Blake, Desk Jockey, was planning on teaching him a very important (and expensive) lesson.

**_DO NOT FUCK WITH FELIX BLAKE._ **

"I am sorry, if you are in pain, you should take a Tylenol. Not sure why you’re telling me,” Felix continued.  There was another truly satisfying burst of static and then Phil Coulson was gone.

No doubt fuming.

**_Heh, heh, heh._ **

**_Or should I say Kaching, kaching?_ **

* * *

 

In a very small cabin located in the steerage section of the ocean liner, Leo Fitz and Skye were trying not to notice the fact that their room with the promised two twin beds only had one queen bed that took up the majority of the room.

“I can’t believe that there isn’t a couch,” protested Fitz.


	21. Chapter 21

While Coulson may have all but declared the mission over, Felix Blake continued to review the rosters.  He saw a familiar face or three (Hacker Grrrl,  Fitzie and a few other agents)and some others on the guest list that looked quasi familiar so he tagged them for further review. That done, he vowed to keep Jemma far, far away from her fellow Agents. At least until she was not actively panicking.

A glance at his watch reminded him that he had made dinner reservations at _Le bistro exclusive cher qui devrait impressionner la femme qui voulait sa mort_ aka The pricey exclusive bistro that should impress the woman who wished him dead. If Jemma wasn’t up to eating, he needed to cancel them.

This escalating situation deserved more tact and sensitivity that he had even been accused of possessing.  And while Jemma had really wounded him because of her distress over him and his position, he could admit to himself that he wasn’t entirely blameless. He hadn’t confessed because he had been loath to upset the proverbial apple cart because… God help him for admitting this, even to himself as he sounded so PATHETIC, he had been lonely. He had enjoyed their relationship, such as it was.  Jemma would pop into his life and then pop out at completely random intervals so … he always had something to look forward to.

If he pulled her psych eval post-jump to ascertain how she had managed to bluff her way back into the field, red flags would go up, firecrackers would burst over the HR/PSYCH department and it would be quite utterly bad. For now, he’d chalk it to up to her Big Bambi eyes and cartoon animals breaking into the HR office during the middle of the night and typing up a new eval.  Seriously, Disney Princesses had nothing on  Jemma Simmons and her God Given ability to have people desiring to help her.

He entered the cabin to discover Simmons was sitting on a chair and brushing her hair. She wore a sundress and from the amount of cosmetics on the table, it appeared that she had spackled the damage caused by an extensive amount of crying.

“I can cancel if you want to stay here,” he softly offered.

Keep buggering on was part of her DNA, he reminded himself so he wasn’t surprised when she pulled herself up by her bra straps to glare at him.

“We have a mission,” she reminded him. “ ** _AGENT_**.”

“At the moment, I’m not sure if we do,” he confessed.  “Our main suspects were pulled over for speeding in a van with tinted windows with stolen, mismatched plates. They blew a red, too. Supposedly, they are singing like a bunch of canaries.”

She wrinkled her adorable nose at him.

“Yes. It’s just too easy, too pat, too obvious,” admitted Felix.  “So we’re still here, keeping an eye out for any possible terrorist that didn’t break any traffic laws. However, you shouldn’t be on this mission.”

“I was cleared to return to work without any restrictions,” she protested.   “I will be able fulfil my part….”

“Easy,” Blake stated as he held out his hands in the universal ‘Don’t Shoot Gesture’.  “Tell Agent Simmons to go take a hike, I desire to speak to Jemma Simmons.”

“They’re one and the same,” she protested.

There was a long, slow sigh as Felix rubbed the back of his neck. Really, he needed Dear Abby on retainer for this mission – or Dear Carolyn, as he enjoyed her sassy, realistic advice.

“I know that you hate me with the fiery passion of a thousand burning suns, but I wish you’d believe me when I tell you, once again, that I will not fuck you over,” he quietly stated. “However, there is no denying the fact that you shouldn’t be on this mission. The question is, why did you agree to this mission? Was it Coulson?”

“Coulson is a good man,” she began.

He needed to cut off that conversation before she got to full volume in order to extol the many virtues of Phil Coulson.

“I have firsthand knowledge how everyone **_adores_** Phil Coulson,” he bleakly stated. Thanks to one Melinda May.

“I wouldn’t had any problems if he was still my partner on this,” Jemma informed him.  “He’s **_kind_** and **_supportive_**.”

**_Low blow there, Simmons.  That’s too personal a shot to be anything but deliberate. No doubt you and Melinda decided to have drinks one night and I was the subject of conversation._ **

“Instead I got …. **_You_** ,” she continued.

**_Once again, I am second best to Phil Coulson. I need to find my self-respect IMMEDIATELY. Why are I am putting up with this shit?  Yes, she needs help but she won’t take it from me. So stop trying, asshole.  You’ve done what you can, she won’t accept it._ **

Blake nodded his head in tired defeat. “I’ll change for dinner.”

* * *

 

They were very quiet even after they sat in the restaurant. Felix pretended to be a perfect gentleman and assisted her with her chair, even waited for her to order her meal, before he ordered his plus the wine. The waiter nodded his head, once, and complimented Felix on his choice of wine.

“Nothing but the best for Jemma,” Felix quietly stated.

Then silence except for a few brief snatches of small talk.  Yes, she liked the wine as it went well with her meal. No, she didn’t want afters, however Felix still ordered the Trio Crèmes Brulées for her which she deigned to sample. To her surprise, the brulées were quite tasty and so she informed Felix of such.

“I thought you’d enjoy them as you have a bit of a sophisticated sweet tooth,” Bake advised her.

After they returned to their cabin, Felix removed his sport coat, rolled up his sleeves and began to rearrange the furniture into a suitable, makeshift bed.  After that was done, he sat down in a chair and placed his long legs just so on the ottoman.

He grimaced, and rearranged the furniture until he was content.

Jemma said nothing because what could be said?

That night, she dreamed of falling from a very great height into the ocean, and no one, not Ward, not Coulson….not Blake… was there to rescue her.

* * *

 

She was the brightest biochemist of her age, she could admit that with no false modesty. Never the less, it took her two days to realize that Felix Blake was no longer talking to her. In her defense, she had been too delighted over not having to deal with the ‘Bubbly Blake’ that she had failed to notice his reticence?

Yes, they did ‘speak’ to each other, mainly about the activities Felix had planned for their day, both joint and separate with plenty of outs for her to enjoy solo time but they didn’t talk about anything but work.  Possible suspects were discussed as Felix still believed something was amiss but lacked enough proof to confirm it.

On the third day, it being a Sea Day, there was a previously planned romantic spa day for two.  The very idea had been nerve wracking as they had booked a joint steam bath prior to the massage. Fortunately, Felix had displayed enough leg for her to realize that he was wearing trunk boxers, while she was completely al fresco under her towels.

Really, in the couples massage, were they supposed to gaze lovingly at each other? Naturally, Felix was no help so she was completely on her own.  She quickly determined that Felix kept his eyes closed, fortunately, even when he answered Annika, his massage therapist’s question.   Yes, he was a desk jockey as his back, neck and shoulders were quite tense, she need not worry about applying too much pressure and he had blown his left knee out so not to apply too much pressure there as it had been rebuilt.

He was deeply asleep within minutes of lying on the massage table, and Annika softly laughed, “Wearing him out, are you?”

Jemma smiled a faux smile yet she truly blushed at the idea of **_her_** sexually exhausting Felix Blake

“He’s holding a great deal of emotions inside him, as his neck and shoulders are literally boulders,” Annika explained as she performed a complicated maneuver that looked painful, but she promised would release all of his tension.

“He’s been under a great pressure at work, I’m hoping that this trip will help,” she lied.

That night her dreams were full of the ocean, vast, wide, and limitless.

* * *

 

“Hello, Felix,” Jemma heard the next morning. She was having a late lie-in due to not getting any rest the previous night and she was annoyed when she heard a female voice. She opened her eyes long enough to see that Felix was having a conversation with his tablet and that there was no one else in the room.

“Good morning,” Felix rumbled. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“Fyodor wishes to say ‘hi’, as you haven’t called him,” a female voice cheerfully informed Felix.

“Victoria, seriously? He’s a cat, he has the brain the size of a walnut. Give him some treats and he’ll be fine.”

A female voice stated, “Look Fyodor, Daddy’s on the screen.”

There was a loud meow and then purring.

“Did you buy him a new collar? A studded leather collar?  Izzie?” Felix protested. “That’s your style, not Victoria’s.”

“Yes, he seemed rather depressed, he really missed you, Felix.  We brought him a new collar and….” Izzie stopped talking while Felix sighed.

“Fyodor, what did your aunties do?” Felix questioned.  “Auntie Victoria didn’t put scarlet stripes in your fur, did she? Because she will have to get them removed. I hope you just bought him some expensive cat treats, perhaps too much Cosmic Catnip.”

There was a long delayed silence and Felix exhaled.  “ ** _What did you do?”_**

“No…. we… found him a girlfriend.”

They did **_not_**.  They were Fyodor’s Aunties and cat sitters, not matchmaker!

“Those parts were snipped,” protested Felix. “At a very early age so he has no idea what he’s missing.”

“I was shopping when I saw this ad, free to good home. She’s a Russian Blue also, but she’s only thirteen weeks ago. Her new owner is highly allergic to cats, so she was free to good home.  Fyodor really likes Katya. See?”

The purring grew louder until there was a heartbreaking sound of a kitty whimpering.

“He just stepped on her head,” protested Felix. “I’m not witnessing a great deal of love there.”

“Accident!” Izzie swore. “Come here eKat, let me check your head.”

“Ekat?” Felix asked.  Felix then exhaled, once, twice, three times before he spoke. “Never mind. It’s time for me to go.  They’re serving breakfast shortly. On this cruise, you need to be in the breakfast line when they open the doors and yell ‘Sooie!’ else people will run you over with their walkers. Fyodor, please stop stepping on the kitten’s head. It’s not nice, ok? You don’t want to damage Auntie Victoria’s kitten.”

“No, she’s **_yours_**!” Izzie explained. “Victoria and I got Ekaterina for you!”

There was a thousand and one things he wished to voice about their generosity, however none of it was suitable for expressing to his direct supervisor.

“Goodbye, I’ll talk to you both AT LENGTH later.” He disconnected the call and then he spoke to Jemma. “You didn’t sleep last night.”

He didn’t face her, instead he concentrated on the far wall.

“I did,” she lied.  She had catnapped for most of the night, until the overwhelming panic had woken her from a sound sleep.

“You didn’t,” he stated.  “You sounded exactly like Katya getting her head stepped on. Trust me, I heard repeatedly last night. Speaking of Katya, I can’t believe that the two of them got me a kitten. I should never have let them cat-sit. The most I feared was that I’d have to send him to detox to get off the catnip; the idea that they’re find him a girlfriend never crossed my mind.”

He tried to be flippant but Jemma, naturally wasn’t having any of it.  She was stubborn, determined not to show the slightest weakness to him.

“OK, so I woke up once or twice,” she lied.  Then to confuse the issue, she added, “You **_do_** snore.”

He exhaled loudly once more and shook his head.  “Jemma, I counted nine times,” he stated. “We need to work on this because between your nightmares and sleeping on a chair, I can’t survive a month of not sleeping.”

“I don’t need your help,” she protested.

“No, you need Coulson. Sadly, for all concerned, you got Felix Blake instead.  We will have breakfast first, then one hour later, I will escort you to the pool where you will put your feet in the water. Fortunately for you, Coulson splurged on the tickets so we have access to a private pool. Well, at least one that is restricted so we don’t have to deal with those poor souls in steerage.”

* * *

 

Ninety minutes later, they were being waved into a select area by a smiling employee. Jemma was trying not to shake noticeably, but she knew that she was failing. Miserably.  She used to love swimming, even used it as her physical education credit at the Academy, but now even a hot tub made her uneasy.

“See, no one’s here. Everyone is sleeping off last night’s margarita party,” Felix stated as he walked over to two lounge chairs. He pulled off his shirt, shorts and footwear, to reveal a pair of knee length swim trunks.  “Did you remember to apply sun tan lotion? You can’t be too careful about preventing melanoma.”

That public service announcement completed, he walked over the edge of the pool and sat down so he could dangle his legs in the pool.  He patted a spot next to him and motioned for her to join him.

“For today’s lesson, we’ll just enjoy sitting on the edge of the pool,” he announced.  “Put your feet in the water, and relax.”

To Jemma’s surprise, Felix held out his hand when she began to sit on the edge of the pool.  She grasped it, unexpectedly glad about the physical support.  Even if it was Felix Blake’s hand.

“Feet in the water,” he reminded her as she was sitting away from the edge of the pool, with her legs tucked under her.  “But only if you feel comfortable, if you’re scared, tell me. We can stop this. You can admit your fear to me, and it won’t go anywhere.”

At a snail pace, she gingerly uncurled her legs and placed one, then the other into the water. They sat like that in silence for ten minutes or so. She had just gotten comfortable enough to actually move her feet somewhat when silent Felix leaned forward to cup pool water in his hands.  He poured the water over his head and then spoke.  “Put your goggles on, and do that. That way you don’t get the chlorine in your eyes. After you do that, do you want to try getting into the shallow end of the pool using the ladder?”

She shook her head.

He slid into the pool and looked up at her.  The water barely came up to his waist and he easily walked over to the pool ladder.

“Are you afraid?” he asked once he arrived at his destination. “Truthful answer.”

“No. Yes. Maybe?” was Jemma’s confused admission because her thoughts were jumbled, her stomach was nauseous and her heart was racing. “I’m not afraid, I just don’t want to get into the pool.”

There was a hair’s difference between the two ideas, so Jemma hoped that Felix would let it go.  Wrong. Instead he pounced.

“Get into the pool. Else your dislike will be ingrained into a fear,” he explained. “So, get into the pool so we can walk in the shallow end. I’ll be with you, and I promise to keep an eye on you the entire time.”

It wouldn’t seem like much to anyone watching them, but for Jemma Simmons to actually walk over to the ladder and to climb down into the pool was a very large step for Jemma.

And yes, she latched onto Felix’s forearm for support.

“Ok, right step first,” he informed her. “Then left.”

 


	22. Chapter 22

Jemma stood in the pool, water up to her waist, and she nodded her head.   “See, I can do this,” she proudly informed Felix Blake.  She was rather pleased – her voice didn’t tremble. As a bonus, her shaking legs were hidden by the water. For added poof positive of her complete lack of fear regarding water plus a smidgeon of irresistibility, she added a big smile. There was no possibly way a too observant Felix Blake could even think that she needed additional aqua therapy sessions with HIM. 

Especially as she couldn’t help but notice his light eyes that were accented by his tan.  And his shoulders.

Yes, she had an eye kink, besides one for perfect body symmetry.  Plus that shoulder fetish.

Blake arched an eyebrow in response to her declaration of independence.  Combined with his dyspeptic grimace, it translated to, ‘This ain’t my first rodeo’.

“I think that’s enough for today,” he stated. “We’ll come back tomorrow, same bat time, same bat channel. You’ll go a little further out, and by the end of this leg of the cruise, you’ll be doing laps.”

“I think I can handle laps now,” Jemma protested as she was determined to demonstrate her ability in order to free herself from hours spent, scantily clad, with Blake in a pool.  She walked away from him; failed to realize that there was a quick and significant drop-off to the deep end, so she gracelessly… soundlessly… slipped under the water.

She had barely submerged, not enough time for her mind to register that she should panic, before Felix had one arm wrapped around her. With an ease that surprised her, he hoisted her out of the water.  He escorted… manhandled… her towards the shallow end even while she vainly protested.  When they reached the ladder, Jemma began to vocalize why she had been just **_fine_**. Instead of protesting, Felix simply stared at her.

It didn’t help her verbal defense that she coughed up a lobe or three.

Finally, she sputtered to a stop and then he leaned towards her. When he spoke, his voice was quite low, so she had to strain to hear her.  “I think we have enough time to take a shower before we take the tour of the ship.  If you hurry, we can have a quick snack before the tour. Your friends will be on the tour also as they’ll want to check out the engine room and the communications area. Wear your sensible shoes, and **_smile_**.”

Then in a louder voice, for the concerned lifeguard. “We’ll continuing working on this swimming thing tomorrow.”

Jemma wrinkled her nose at him, so he added, “If you keep working on your swimming, maybe Uncle Phil will get you Captain American Floaties.”

* * *

 

“I hope Jemma is doing ok with Mr. Cranky Pants,” Skye confessed as she collapsed gracelessly on the bed, next to Fitz.

“I’m sure she is,” Fitz agreed. “She probably has him completely paper trained by now.”

“No doubt she has thwacked him with a rolled up newspaper to the nose,” Skye admitted as she stretched out on the bed. She then rolled onto her stomach and looked at Fitz. “She’s probably thoroughly traumatized.”

“We should rescue her,” Fitz quickly agreed. “Give her a break from him.”

“God, that must be hell, dealing with him,” Skye decided. “Mr. Senior Agent with Deep Rumbly Voice completed with a Bad Attitude. Did you review our mission for today including the roster?”

“Got the Minions ready to be placed so we can view the areas remotely. Also, I’m to chat with the one electrical engineer in particular… Marcus. What was your instructions?” Fitz asked.

Skye put a pillow over her head before she spoke. Fitz jumped onto the bed and pulled the pillow away from her. 

“I think I heard that, but can you repeat it without a muffler?” Fitz asked.

Skye stared at the ceiling and then began to quote in a fair impersonation of Felix’s voice, “Your instructions are to watch and observe. Under no conditions are you and Simmons to talk to each other and you most specifically are not given permission to get her any advice that involves the possibility of harm coming to my person. I watched the Sitwell tape, I know who the brain was behind that cluster. Best behavior or I will have Payroll lose your consultant fee for the next six months.”

Fitz chuckled.

“I wish Coulson hadn’t been the victim of a treadmill,” protested Skye. “I’m sure he’d teach us how to shuffleboard on the Lido deck. Maybe even lead us in the limbo.”

He leaned towards her as he couldn’t help it. Their eyes met, there was a slight spark or two that threatened to turn into a carnal conflagration as they were two healthy young adult sharing a small room in a cruise that literally oozed romance from every pore. The two of them realized that they were in dangerous territory and literally jumped out of the bed at the very same time.  They then both stared at anything, anything but each other. Oh and they most assuredly search for the non-existent couch.

“I’ll go braid my hair,” announced Skye as she streaked to the bathroom. “If we’re traipsing through the ship, perhaps it better be contained.”

“I’ll check the minions,” Fitz stated as he began to fumble with the case.

It took them a bit, but they were composed by the time they arrived for the tour. They didn’t look at each other, but they were poised and self-possessed.

* * *

 

By the time Jemma had showered, towel dried and fixed her hair, changed and spent a few more minutes girding her loins in preparation for looming verbal combat with Blake, room service had arrived and departed, leaving an English tea in its wake.  Felix was sitting in the chair and he was intently examining a finger sandwich as though it was a sentient alien lifeform about to attack.

“I hope this is Coronation Chicken,” he stated.  “I ordered your favorites. I figured you needed gastronomical fortitude as you’ll have to pretend to be nice to me for the next three hours as we tour the ship. Or at least not so obvious that you wish to take an axe to me, and yell, “Die, dick. Die’.”

That was stated with a bright, sunshiny smile, complete with dimples.  His eyes, however, were defensive and guarded because she had succeeded on scoring on him, well and truly. To her surprise, his obvious pain didn’t make her happy, it just saddened her.

“There’s even sugar cubes,” he continued, as he poured her a cuppa. “I believed as a purist, you would insist on sugar cubes. They were happy to oblige, though I think they were hoping for a large tip because they molded them into little hearts.”

“No Tardis tea infuser, though,” she offered in a way of a quasi-apology.  Since there **_were_** sugar cubes…. Well… little sugar hearts, she added them to her cuppa. After a long, appreciative sip, she placed her cup down and reached for a cucumber sandwich.

“I assumed that you tossed it,” he admitted. “Do you like the tea? It’s Lapsang Souchong Black Tea, supposedly handpicked by monks. I requested that they send up Chamomile tea or something non caffeinated plus a cheese platter for later tonight to help you sleep.”

“This is simply amazing tea,” she agreed. “Cheese platter?”

“Gram for gram, cheddar cheese contains more tryptophan than turkey. It should help you fall asleep.”

“I still use the Tardis tea infuser,” she confessed, as she looked at the sandwiches.  “Fitz is quite jealous.”

There was a slight crack then, in the thick wall he had erected. A quirk of a real smile as he seemed… surprised… and pleased… that she still utilized it. Why wouldn’t she have kept it? It was a perfectly good tea infuser, after all.  Less likely to be commandeered by someone else (see Ward’s Grump Cat mug that had been a secret Santa Gift).

“I saw it when I was in London. I wasn’t sure if I should pick that or the Dalek tea cosy,” he admitted.

“A Dalek tea cosy?” She asked.  Jemma couldn’t keep her enthusiasm for all things Who-dom out of her voice which caused Felix to smile.

“Yes.”

They ate in silence until she was full.

“What is the objective for today?” Jemma asked as well, she needed to act like the Agent she was in fact.

“I need you to check out the medical area to determine if they can handle anything more critical than an outbreak of a rotavirus.  Check out every location and notice everything. Talk to people, as there are a mix of people on this tour including an electrical engineer, lab techs and retired military.  Anything that seems out of the ordinary, categorize it and let me know. Under no condition, do you shoot anyone with the night night gun. You won’t speak to Fitz or Skye either as part of your cover. One question?”  Felix stopped and waited for Jemma to nod. “Can you handle being on the bridge?”

Earlier today, she would have gotten miffed about the reminder about the Sitwell incident. In her anger, perhaps she would have lied and assured Felix of her confidence. No, not when she was the reason why he was being so damn caustic, after making those cruel comments about his sexual performance, and other issues.  Not now, not with their brief thaw in their private Cold War, and how he had quietly helped her when she had slipped in the pool. She couldn’t be anything less than honest.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted as she thought of height and water and….  “I hope I can be comfortable.”

“Let me know what I can do to make it easier,” Felix offered. “You can claim that you’re not feeling well and you can leave the tour before we get to the bridge.”

“I think you’ve done quite enough,” she softly admitted.  He grimaced and looked away, even as she realized how Felix had taken her comment the wrong way. “I mean, you’ve been so helpful with me and my anxiety, even though I’ve been a stroppy cow.”

“I’ve promised you that I wouldn’t fuck you over,” Felix repeated his mantra for what seemed to be the twelfth time.

“I know,” she admitted.

“I don’t feel that you believe me,” he quietly admitted.  “I readily admit that I’m an asshole, but I’m not a dick.”

At her confused expression, Felix softly added, “There’s a difference. A small but significant difference.”

“How should we pretend to be?” Jemma asked.  “Couplewise.”

“Whatever you feel comfortable doing, just don’t loudly announce my sexual short comings on the PA please,” Felix stated.  He smiled and bobbed his head, but Jemma just looked away.

“Hey, I can laugh at myself,” Felix quietly informed her.  “You get used to it when you’re a desk jockey with a bum knee. After all, I’m not Coulson. Everybody **_loves_** Coulson. I’m just Felix Blake, Professional Asshole.”

Twisted smile, directed inwards toward himself, and then Felix exhaled. “Time to go.”

* * *

 

Jemma kept her eyes and ears opened during their tour of the ship. She made small talk with the two ladies she had met earlier, Kate and Daria.  During their conversation, Daria vented how the two of them had been made redundant from their positions as chemical analysts, so they and their fellow redundants had decided to take a cruise to regroup and reform. Though as Kate caustically commented, due to their age, it was unlikely that they would find employment. Jemma made a mental checkmark next to their names as really, a boatload of angry chemists? The sheer possibilities were terrifying.

Raj was an electrical engineer, Bernie was retired military and Yosef … he was hard to read.  Both Skye and Fitz were together, and it was difficult not to smile in true glee when she heard Fitz exclaiming about the engines to an oblivious Skye.

Sometimes when Blake talked to another guest, she would find herself watching the older Agent.  Just to see how he acted in the field or so she told herself. 

Bright, cheerful but not the same open Felix she had met in the bar that one night so long enough. She found that she rather missed **_that_** Felix.  Really, if he wasn’t a senior agent, she would have been quite happy with their relationship of shagging and companionship. But he was a blasted SEVEN.

Felix caught her watching him so he made his way to her.  He leaned down to her and whispered in her ear.    “You heard?”

“About what?” She asked, as before she had been distracted by watching Felix, she had been busy eavesdropping on Bernie and Marta.  It seemed Bernie was interested in ‘cruising’ with Marta, who was a staunch conservative who disapproved of **_everything_**. He had already been horribly rejected by Mia, who was a vegan and pro-animal rights.

“We’re headed for some bad weather, so they’re cutting the tour of the ship short. We won’t get to the bridge.”

They had been exploring the various nooks and crannies of the ship for almost four hours, so Jemma wasn’t too disappointed that they had decided to cut the tour short.

But the bridge, Felix had wanted Skye on the bridge so she could scope out the Command center.

“How bad do they think it will get?” Jemma questioned.

“Windy, waves. Some thunder and lightning.  When it gets bad, you can stay in the cabin or attend the entertainment. They’re opening the comedy club early plus showing a movie. I think we should leave now, as I noticed that there’s a shelf cloud forming.”

He nodded his head in the direction of the window and Jemma saw the arcus cloud in the distance.  It was a beautiful cloud roll, appearing almost as though it was a long, unbroken ocean wave approaching the ship. She felt her resolve tremble and she decided to return back to her cabin with all due haste.

“I think I’ll stay in the cabin if that’s ok?” she requested.

“Absolutely.”

* * *

 

They were on their way back to cabin when it began to rain. Hard, pellets of rain plastered down, and Felix attempted to shelter her from the worst of it.  It was noble but futile as she was literally drenched to her skin by the time they had reached the sanctuary of their cabin.

“Go change,” he roughly ordered.  “You don’t want another episode of pneumonia so go, change.”

By the time she had dried herself completely and had changed into her warm Tardis blue pyjamas, Felix had turned their suite in command central with various flat panels stuck to the wall displaying parts of the ship. That done, he was sitting on the love seat, intently reading, so she decided to sit next to him.  Her decision seemingly perplexed Felix as he warily closed his dossier in order to devote his full attention towards her.

“I’m glad to see you took your own advice and changed,” she teased.

Naturally Felix was all business.

“So, who do you think is our possible terrorist? We have an animal activist, three retired military, a literal gaggle of disgruntled chemists, and a pastry chef with a bad attitude among our list of characters.”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Your opinion?”

“Nothing stood out, but those terrorists were too idiotic for my comfort,” he admitted. “It could be Bob and Mary Martha, what with quiverful of twenty three children. If I was Martha, I’d mentally snap after number six.”

She nodded.                                 

They didn’t say anything, so the silence grew more and more uncomfortable. There was a reprieve when there was a knock at the door. It was almost comical as Felix leapt to his feet in order to escape her.

“Room service,” Felix quickly explained. “I figured the weather would get rough later, so we should eat now.”

A pensive Jemma nodded.

* * *

 

Claiming she was physically exhausted, she went to bed early. Really, it was because she didn’t know what else to do as the weather grew increasingly worse.

_She was falling from the plane, and the water was racing up to meet her. There was no one there to help her, no Coulson, no Ward…. No one…. She told herself that she needed to wake before she hit the water, but she was trapped, spinning in a downward spiral…. And she screamed._

“Hey, wake up,” Felix Blake stated. He was sitting on the bed next to her and he was holding her in a sitting position. “Wake up, Jemma. It’s a nightmare. You’re having a nightmare.”

Instinctively, she tightly clung to him, and to her deep surprise, he let her hug him.

“It’s ok…. It’s ok…” he kept repeating over and over.  

 


	23. 23

It was comforting, to be in Felix’s arms even while the storm raged around them. He was safe, secure, comforting. Plus, he was wearing that cologne of his that was distinctively Felix.

“I never told you how much I liked your cologne,” she murmured. “It’s very unique.”

“It’s by Kilian. I’ll tell Izzie you liked it, as she picks them out for me. Victoria buys my ties, and the two of them decided that I needed a kitten, God help me.” He admitted, “I’m just hopeless with that stuff.”

“You do just fine,” Jemma assured him.

There was a particularly loud clap of thunder and Jemma jumped.

“Let go for a minute,” he requested. She did so, feeling awkward and uncomfortable, as they were sitting on the bed… together.  He grabbed two pillows, placed one on the bed, one on his hip, and he laid back on the bed. “There; propriety can be maintained. Though no one in their right mind would ever believe that you’d ever be interested in me.”

Jemma rubbed her aching head, willed herself to openly acknowledge that the reason why Felix was acting the way he was, was because of her.

“I’m sorry, Felix.” She said that softly. It wasn’t enough, but hopefully it was a beginning for a long overdue conversation.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s my fault. Damn me for being a complete fool, but I thought we were **_friends_** ,” he admitted that slowly as though the admission pained him.  “We weren’t having the epic romance of the ages, but I thought we were good. We went out, had some laughs, I even mistakenly believed we were friends, and I had hoped the sex was decent for you. Because I did fucking try.”

He wasn’t yelling, he was stating how felt in a very matter of fact tone which made Jemma feel even worse.

“You were amazing in bed,” she admitted. “I was just really upset when I found out your level.”

“So you couldn’t even say goodbye,” he stated. “I didn’t even rate, ‘so long asshole’.”

“I just didn’t know how to handle how much I owed you,” Jemma explained. “Morocco, Sitwell…”

“You could have just said **_goodbye_** ,” Felix stated. “You could have just said, it’s over. A simple _, I don’t feel right dating you because you’re a senior agent, so it’s over_ would have been nice. My ex-wife never admitted that really what had never begun had ended. Instead, she just shut down on me. What is it with you two? I thought better of both of you. However, whatever it was, it’s over, it’s done. Now get in the bed, so I can get some sleep on a **_real_** mattress.”

She lay next to him in the bed, and he apologized for his early nastiness. “You just hurt me and I reacted badly. I wish I could take what I said back.”

"I deserved it," she admitted.

* * *

 

They were sharing the bed, completely platonically, when there was a series of lightning flashes and a loud explosion. The boat violently shook and Felix sat up.

“We’re on emergency power as the power’s offline,” he needlessly explained in the low light conditions. “Flashlights should be in the drawer. This is the perfect time for a terrorist attack.”

He took out his satellite phone and began snapping orders, Skye and Fitz to the engine room, this person there, this person there.  The orders dispensed to his agents, he contacted Coulson to advise him of the current situation and what his plans were.

“I’m going with you,” she informed him as Felix reached the cabin door.  “The only spot that you left unattended is the water filtration plant, so that’s where you’re heading. You need a biochemist of my expertise in case they succeed in contaminating the water.”

“Just do what I tell you to do,” he insisted. “I tell you to leave, you leave. If I have to battle an international terrorist, I would prefer you not be in the way, as you’re dangerous to friend and foe.”

However, upon their arrival, the international terrorists turned out to be Kate and Daria, the two laboratory technicians who had been made redundant.  They were in the process of sabotaging the water filtration system when they realized that they were no longer alone. To Jemma’s surprise, Daria was a mean street fighter, utilizing hair spray and knitting needles in her attempt to disable Jemma. However, Jemma proved victorious as Daria soon fell beneath the onslaught of Jemma’s trusty fire extinguisher.  Felix was having a more difficult time as he was not completely focused on subduing his counterpart. Instead, he concentrated on Jemma’s safety as he literally pushed her through the door with his foot and then barricaded it so she was on the wrong side of the fight.

Damn it, she had her fire extinguisher and she wasn’t afraid to utilize it. WHAT WAS HE THINKING?

“What did you throw at me?” Felix roared at Kate.  “I’m assuming that it’s water borne. It didn’t get on my shoes, so hopefully Jemma isn’t contaminated.”

Kate shrugged her shoulders in easy defeat.

“Yes, it’s completely water borne, so Jemma is safe. Unfortunately. Anyway, it’s something that’s gonna make you really sick, because that concentrated dose was for the entire ship,” Kate explained. “Bakshi will be angry as we failed in our mission. I really don’t like it when Bakshi’s angry.”

“Who is Bakshi?” Felix asked. “Why did you try to do this?”

“For the money,” she admitted. “Daria has cancer and healthcare is expensive. They offered us a great deal of money.”

Kate grimaced and then began to foam at her mouth. With a loud thud, she collapsed on the floor.

“Suicide pill,” Felix groaned. “Wonderful and I’m splattered with an unknown concoction.  God, how do I **_HATE_** working Coulson’s cases.”

Felix Blake took out his cell phone and dialed Victoria Hand. In a calm, steady voice, he stated, “Director Hand, this is Agent Blake. I am initiating the Infected Cargo protocol. I say again, I am initiating the Infected Cargo protocol.”  

Hand spoke to Blake for a bit, too quietly for Jemma to overhear, and then Felix requested, “Final request, Vic. I need you to take care of Fyodor and Katya, won’t you? Thank you.”

He disconnected his phone and then faced Jemma Simmons.  With an odd smile, he gently informed her, “I told you that if you listened to me, you’d get out of this alive. I want you to remember, Felix Blake always keeps his promises, even if it’s the last thing he ever does.”


	24. The End

The fever took quickly took hold of Felix Blake.

However, being male and Felix, he was stubborn, difficult and **_difficult_**. Did Jemma mention **_difficult_**?  As in him insisting on running the operation even after he was quarantined. Instead of conserving his strength, Felix spent his energy focused on the various SHIELD personnel, relaying orders, demanding reports and just being a HORRID, NONCOMPLIANT patient. By the time her team arrived, his fever had spiked, he was bleeding from his nose and his mouth but he was still smiling. A rather ghastly smile, truth be told.

She was unbelievably furious with Blake because he was an idiot.  Really, Jemma was worried …. Sick… about him and she was so angry that she wished to throttle him for his stupidity, his nobility and…  God, she also wished to give him a proper Thank You and shag him utterly senseless and spineless.  

REPEATEDLY!

Then slap him a few times for being an idiot.

Fortunately, her team arrived via helicopter so Coulson took command of the situation from Felix.

“Told you… I’d keep her safe,” her horrid patient proudly informed Coulson. Blake’s voice was low and rumbly, and could barely be heard even with the microphone in his Portable Negative Pressure Medical Isolation System.  Skye’s head spun so fast that Jemma feared it would take flight and land in the ocean.

“I know you would. That’s why I trusted you with her,” Coulson admitted.

“I beg your pardon?” asked Jemma. “Trust me with him?”

“Should have seen her whip out her trusty fire extinguisher,” Felix informed Coulson. He laughed, began coughing hard and then he wearily closed his eyes. “Kid did good, Phil. Be proud of her.”

* * *

Jemma followed the isolation chamber off the ship and almost followed it onto the SHIELD medvac helicopter. The crew informed her that there was no room for her and left her behind. She watched the helicopter leave, and then she exhaled.  Truthfully, she was mentally and physically exhausted, as she had created a makeshift isolation chamber for Felix, ransacked the cruise’s medical supplies to give Felix something… anything… to help… and her lack of sleep was catching up with her.

She felt someone reached behind her and gives her a one-armed hug. It was Skye, and she gratefully took it.

“ ** _Michael_** will be fine,” Skye offered.

Jemma lied, “ ** _Michael_**? His name is Felix Blake.”

“Felix M. Blake,” Skye stated and she stressed the letter M for added emphasis.  “Felix Michael Blake…. Or… Feliks Mikhail Blake.”

She didn’t say anything, but Skye gave her another quick supportive squeeze.

“I spoke to him once,” Skye admitted. “Rather distinctive voice.”

“I didn’t know,” Jemma explained. “I really didn’t know what he did for a living.”

“Of course not.” Skye’s easy agreement reassured Jemma.

“I was angry when I found out,” continued Jemma. “That meeting in the bar, the dislike wasn’t pretend.”

Skye nodded her head and Jemma found herself unloading her emotions onto the hacker.  Really, it was a literal verbal spillage of upset, emotions and conflict.  When she ceased talking, she felt emotionally cored, but yet… better. Because she admitted to herself, and Skye, that she still cared for the bugger.

“In spite of a rather nasty breakup, he pushed you out of the way to prevent you from being infected?” questioned an observant Skye. “He took the full brunt of the Infectious Goop to his eyes, nose and mouth and other various body parts?”

Jemma nodded.

“Think he still cares,” teased Skye. “Very, very much.”

Jemma nodded once more and she wiped her eyes.

“I think he needs a big Chicken head balloon as a get well motivator,” offered Skye.

The reminder of Felix’s get well balloon he had sent when she had been ill with pneumonia caused Jemma to laugh. Hard.

“I need to find something even more outrageous than that,” Jemma admitted.

Skye wiggled her phone at Jemma and deviously smiled.  “I know exactly what will cheer him up!”

Jemma, knowing Skye extremely well, began to protest.

“We can’t send him **_strippers_**!” Jemma protested.

“Blake isn’t into strippers. He didn’t want them for his bachelor party, I told him that he could, but he didn’t want them,” Melinda May informed the two delinquents. “So, you and Blake? I wondered about you two after that scene at the bar.”

For some reason, she looked Simmons up and down, then down and up, and cryptically smiled.  Almost an approving smile. Naturally, Jemma Simmons freaked. About May …. Knowing a bit too much about Blake’s bachelor party…. About May guessing….. MAY APPROVING?!?!?!?!?!

“You won’t tell Agent Coulson, will you?” she begged.

“Won’t tell me what?” Coulson questioned.

The three women turned as one to face Coulson. It was nonverbally decided that Coulson couldn’t handle the truth so May decided to take one for the team. Really, it was for the best as Jemma couldn’t lie to save her life.

“She’s blaming herself because Blake got the full brunt of whatever that stuff was,” May lied.

“Blake promised me that he’d keep you safe,” was Coulson’s response. “Good man. Good agent.”

* * *

 

On the fifth day of what could only be compared to an all-expense paid vacation paid to the outer ring in the seventh circle of hell, Felix Blake was finally able to open his eyes.  There was something big and grey that was hovering over his isolation chamber. He squinted, until whatever it was, came into focus.

It was a big grey cat balloon, with a slightly smaller grey cat balloon that hovered behind it.

“Anybody there?” he rasped. “Can I have a beer?”

“When you’re feeling better,” Jemma informed him. She was wearing the standard decom for an Ebola patient, which meant he was pretty infectious.  Her gear didn’t hide the brightness of her smile.  “You’re an idiot.”

“For the love of God, I’m **_dying_** ,” he protested. “Save the character references for my eulogy.”

She slipped her hand into one of his.  She was tripled gloved but she was **_there_** ….

“You’re an **_idiot_** ,” she repeated. “However, you’re not dying.”

Felix had his doubts, as he felt like he had been hit by a truck.

“How long am I gonna feel this bad?” He asked.

“A while,” she stated.

“For a doctor, you’ve got a shitty bed side manner,” he protested. He laughed and then he had to cough. Loudly.

The forceable expulsion of his lung, earned him her wrinkled nose of disapproval.

“I’m not a medical doctor,” she needlessly reminded him. “I’m glad you’re awake. I wanted to see you awake and cranky before we shipped out again. It’s rather boring to come visit you and you’re unconscious from the narcotics. Speaking of which, I think you need to squeeze your Patient-controlled analgesia pump. You look as though you’re in horrible pain.”

Felix Blake gratefully tapped his pump, willing himself back to sleep.

“You owe me dinner,” Simmons mentioned in an offhand manner, even as he floated off to sleep.

“K,” he mumbled. “McDonalds good?”

“No, most assuredly NOT,” she protested. Then in a whispered aside, she added, “You owe me a kiss.”

“We **_dating_**?” he questioned as really, the drugs were kicking his ass and dragging him off to the River of Lethe in order to drown him.

In answer, she gently rubbed the side of his face.  

“Get well soon, Agent Blake. I’m planning on shagging you senseless as a personal thank you.”

* * *

 

The PG rated story of how Nana had met GoPa was met with stunned silence by her gaggle of grandchildren. Really, Nana was barely sixty, so it wasn’t like she was DEAD.

“Is that why GoPa always give you a fire extinguisher for your anniversary?” Daisy, the boldest of her grandchildren, asked.

“Hey, fire safety is very important,” grumbled Felix Blake.  He pulled out his wallet, handed Daisy entirely too much money, as well they did have a gaggle of grandkids, and he announced, “Is that the ice cream truck?”

“ICE CREAM!” shrieked the grandchildren, who were happy for a reprieve from Grandma’s sexual shenanigans. However, not as happy as their grandparents.

“You do know that we’ll be hearing from their PARENTS regarding that tawdry tale. As it is, I think you scared them into celibacy,” Felix grumbled. "And you had to mention the strippers, didn't you?"

“As long as you’re not scared into celibacy, I’ll be happy,” simpered Jemma. “And since you got rid of the grandkids, maybe we can have an afternoon delight of our own?”

And Felix Blake grinned a very naughty grin.

 

 


End file.
